


Rumarie

by VitaeLampada



Series: Missing Pieces [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Body Paint, Couch Sex, Eventually they use the bed, F/M, First Honeymoon, Floor Sex, Gym Sex, Hand Feeding, Massage, No Angst, Reconciliation, Second Time, Shower Sex, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 07:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 40,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18220250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VitaeLampada/pseuds/VitaeLampada
Summary: This story follows on immediately from the end of "The Architecture of Emotion"  Cadet Nyota Uhura has completed a successful kal-i-fee challege -- Commander Spock belongs to her.  They have a few days before they must return to Earth and the greater restrictions and responsibilities of Academy life.Memory Alpha, under the article heading "Rumarie", writes, "Rumarie was an ancient pagan festival on the planet Vulcan that was last observed during the 14th century.  In 2372, while learning about Vulcan holidays, Neelix discovered Rumarie, which he described as a festival "full of barely clothed Vulcan men and women, covered in slippery Rillan grease, chasing one another."In my Star Trek universe, Rumarie is not longer celebrated but the word is used, privately, to refer to the first days a newly bonded couple spend together.  A certain lubrication product may also be involved.Chapters will vary in length -- I like to publish every week but how much will depend on other factors.





	1. Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You could consider this work an extended ending to “The Architecture of Emotion”. If you want to read it that way, go back to Chapter 18 of that story, titled “Lost Shadows”, and replace the last two paragraphs with the text that follows here.  
> 
> Vulcan terms used in this chapter 
> 
> Let’thieri, ashal-veh - Peace, my darling  
> bolaya guvik - sexual need

How would she describe the quality of light on Vulcan? 

Nyota had noticed protective filters over the windows – sixteen of them across two of the bedroom walls.  Very likely they were required, stipulated in a Shi’Kahr city policy for residential construction.  But it was a close battle fought between technology and the intense glare from outside.  Spock, standing in the path of all this barely tamed brilliance, appeared beatified, like a naked angel. 

Nyota made her steps across the floor small and careful. 

When they made love in the dark, in the desert, they did not know what would happen the next day.  Spock might have been charged by the High Council and imprisoned, or forced to bond with Lelar.  Because of that, their touches seemed outside all rules, stolen. 

Now he belonged to her.  And whatever anyone else might say, this would be another first time.  They had the same bodies, but different minds. 

Nyota especially.  The katra of T'Shin was talkative, wanting to give advice.  It spoke when Nyota hesitated too long on the wrong side of the dressing room doors, held back by the feeling there was something inappropriate about wearing Gaila's red bikini on the planet of logic. 

But her mother said,  _-Hold back nothing-_  

Nyota fingered the string ties at her hips, pulled them up a little.  T’Shin tried to reassure her. 

 _-Vulcan culture protects this time of irrationality.  For centuries before_ _Surak, and some time after,_ _there was an annual festival named_ _Rumarie.  It was_ _given over to uninhibited sexual activity.  The belief was, and is yet held that a designated time of carnal indulgence assists self-control afterwards.  The festival is history.  But in private, the term may be used to refer to the first days a bonded pair share the same bed-_  

And so Nyota emerged into the light.  She could see, as she approached, that Spock’s eyes would not keep still, would not settle on where to look, sometimes blinked as if overwhelmed or disbelieving.  That was why she took her time.  He stood between the foot of his bed and the edge of a large, elliptical rug.  A moment of curiousity flitted through Nyota’s consciousness as her bare feet made contact with the opposite edge of that rug and felt its coarse texture. 

 _\- T_ _edvu_ _-_  

Nyota recognised the Vulcan word root denoting curvature, pliancy, flexibility. 

T’Shin explained more. 

- _This is the term for the textile.  Made from fibrous plants similar to those belonging to genus_ _Linum_ _on Earth.  Extremely durable-_  

Spock had his own reaction as she crossed it.  His eyes opened wider and he seemed almost … afraid? 

Yet that did not make sense.  As soon as she was near enough to reach out, the fingers on Nyota’s left hand spread gently over his chest and she murmured, “ _Let’thieri_ _,_ _ashal-veh_ _.”_  

When that did not change his expression, she skated the same hand up and around the back of his head, pushed his mouth down against hers and worked her tongue over his lips because they had become dry since their last kiss. 

In his mind there was a storm.  Nyota could feel the force of it, blasting like a desert wind against her consciousness, with an abrasive quality gained by carrying so many grains of brown sand.  They were together in a featureless place, an all too familiar place.  The katra of T’Shin was just as puzzled as her daughter. 

 _-Why does he recall_ _Eiktra_   _T’Plak_ _?-_  

The wind swept up more and more sand, until their surroundings no longer mattered.  Spock seemed helpless.  And yet he ached with  _bolaya_   _guvik_ _._ Nyota, with her body against his, could feel the rigid head of his  _lok_ pressed into her bellybutton. 

She coaxed his tongue to come out from his mouth and taste her.  That gave her a breakthrough --  _shok_ created a tingle in the back of Spock’s throat and made him crave.  In this new mental climate the wind died back, and a sensation like mist seemed to clear the air.  And then the katra showed them both what they looked like, if they could have stepped away from their own bodies.  Nyota’s left hand mashed Spock’s right ear.  Both his hands were held up in the air, the style of Terran surrender when confronted by greater firepower. 

Gradually those hands relaxed.  The fingers wilted and curled into his palms, wrist joints softened.  His kisses opened out to get more stimulation against his soft palette. 

The katra of T’Shin began to mark time, not by counting but perception, and suggested a pause when she thought it was wise. 

That was easier said than done.  Nyota might move her head right, left or back -- Spock detected her decisions and reacted to keep their mouths connected.  Finally she rolled her head over his and put their faces cheek to cheek.     

“Ny …,” his protest, if he meant to begin one.   

“Maybe you should pace yourself,” she said.  “We have a lot more time than we did in my tent.” 

She felt him swallow twice, inhale and exhale.  Where their meld points met Nyota did not detect a thought or mood that would explain his strange paralysis before.  There was nothing negative at all.     

“I have dreams about this,” he said softly. 

“Dreams about what?” she asked. 

“About …,”  

Nyota watched as one of his hovering hands began to move.  The middle and index fingers straightened, joined together in _ozh'esta_ and Spock bestowed this kisson the shoulder strap of her bikini top, gliding the touch along the red braid. 

“About --,”  

Then hand drew back to the place it had been, all fingers spread in that baffling gesture of surrender.  Nyota adjusted her cheek against his, hoping something helpful would bleed through the skin connection.  No memories were visible, no speech, only a feeling that eluded even her talent for language.  The best reaction her own mind could muster was to repeat the words, ‘too much, too much’. 

“Yes,” Spock agreed with this fumbling translation. 

“We are talking about many, many dreams?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Then choose one.  Tell me about that.” 


	2. The Interpretation of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you are not already familiar with Chapter 6 of “The Architecture of Emotion”, titled “Sunbathing”, I think you would get more from this instalment if you read that first. There are also references to dreams Spock had during chapters 11 and 20 of the previous story, “Matchmaking”.

“We could reenact it,” Nyota said. 

In Spock's estimation, this was an ambitious proposal.  He had merely described his chosen dream, how it seemed to take place in the adjoining gardens of their respective Academy apartments.  Nyota did not yet know what would happen, and therefore would not know what to enact. Yet through their skin, he sensed this notion excited her. 

She took a step away from him, surveyed the bedroom as if seeing it for the first time.   

“An _interpretation_ of it,” she qualified her last statement, "because we can't go outside.  But even if we could, there would be no lawn.” 

“Indeed,” he replied.  His mouth felt uncomfortable with nothing to kiss.  He very much wanted to close the distance which had opened between them, but also to indulge her. 

“We’ll use this instead.” 

Nyota dropped into a crouch, then leaned the weight of her upper body forward and onto the palms of her hands.  She lowered herself until eventually she lay on her stomach across the centre of his rug. 

“There,” she said, turning her head to the left.  “Is this how you saw me, in the dream?” 

He answered in the affirmative.  This seemed the better option, took less time than explaining how, by coincidence, he also had dreams where Nyota wore the red bikini while she lay across this very rug.  These dreams outnumbered the ones which took place in the garden behind South Axis apartment, a fact he had once dismissed as illogical until he considered the advantages of the indoor setting.  It provided greater privacy.  It helped him understand all the other dreams -- the ones where Nyota wore the bikini while reclining on his bed, on the floor or over the experiment bench in his study, across the mosiac tiles on his private terrace or in the bunk he had been assigned while serving aboard the USS Farragut. 

“Now what?” she asked.  “Tell me where you are.  Are you looking at me through the peephole in the fence?” 

“No,” he said. 

“You’re on my side?” 

“My understanding is that the dreaming mind often compensates for desires which the individual, when conscious, may not believe it is acceptable to satisfy.” 

“On my side, then.”  Her left ankle turned so that the foot pointed in his direction.  “Do I know that you are here?” 

“No.” 

She smiled, and her right foot imitated the actions of her left. 

“Okay,” she said.  “I am going to close my eyes, and you are going to do whatever you did in that dream.  Can you do that?” 

“Yes.” 

Thankfully, she did not stipulate the pace at which actions needed to be recreated.  It would be impossible to mimic the many distortions of unconscious thought, the complete absence of perception at critical points.  In the dream there might be no sense of transition between standing behind and then beside her, between standing and kneeling, between kneeling and straddling her. 

Behind him, one of her legs bent at the knee and pressed into the mound of his _coi'a_.  She could not have known, but this was an event from yet another dream.  So many.  Momentarily, he was seized by the same reactions which had overwhelmed him when Nyota emerged from the dressing room and crossed his bedroom floor.  How did she do this?  They were not, strictly speaking, a bonded pair.  Yet every move she made seemed a hint that she had explored the most hidden places within him, as if she knew him that well.  Such uncanny gestures undermined logic and without that he did not know what to control, could be caught in a moment of weakness.

The only possible explanation: either she was Ha’ma, or Ha’ma had always been her.     

Even the edges of Nyota had begun to shift, like the copper sand from which the form of Ha'ma always emerged.  Perhaps the strong afternoon glare was making her seem less defined. The highlights and lowlights in her hair were blurring together; the red cord of the bikini melted into her back.

Then Spock blinked.  Two drops of water landed on the inner curve of Nyota’s thighs.  The gradient drew that wetness down between her legs and suddenly he was a mere tower of bones shaken to the foundations of his spine, about to topple. 

Nyota made a soft, startled sound and the lower segment of the bikini hitched. 

This moment also had appeared to him in another dream.  Spock became unsure whether he was still reenacting, or if he had somehow been transported into that state of consciousness where new visions began.  One of his hands, without asking for a decision, reached down to touch the place where his tears had fallen.  Before his fingertips could close the last millimetres between them, messages were jumping from her skin to into his.  He heard his name, and answered.

More dreaming followed.  Time changed; it cut itself into segments with thick, black frames of nothing in between.  Immediately after his touch there was blankness, and then Spock found he had dropped down -- his elbows supported his weight on the rug.  His body arched over hers.  Strands of her hair were stuck to the inside his mouth.  Nyota was wet along the bulge of her left scapula and his lips tingled.  

* * *

 

He said it as if he had renamed her.  _Ha’ma_ _\--_ life.  And then he placed an  _ozh’esta_ between her thighs, like a promise to return there. 

Nyota had allowed for the possibility of awkwardness, reluctance, even refusal from Spock.  The katra of T’Shin, being unfamiliar with dreams, could not advise what he might do if asked to recreate one of these unpredictable products of the human mind. 

But he was so good.  In his touch there was wonderment, as if he no longer knew what might happen, would be just as open to the moment as she was.  When he kissed the base of her spine and dragged his lips along the backbone groove she could not feel him thinking. Only a low level psi vibration registered, a state of trance or sleep, until his face had tangled in her hair.  Then she felt his eyes blink rapidly. 

He lifted his head, made a satisfied little grunt before shifting to press his mouth against her ear. 

Nyota responded, because the change of position drove his  _lok_ into the bottom of her bikini, into the pliant swell of one cheek and under the fabric.  It seeped with anticipation of release, slipped in its own moisture, felt delectable.    

She wanted to move a hand behind her back and capture that swollen, weeping head, redirect it between her legs.  But in her eagerness to recreate the dream, and the way she would have looked while sunbathing, she had crossed her arms to make a pillow under her head.  It would take time to wriggle free while Spock had her pinioned by one earlobe.  And his arms were tucked against her ribs.  If she had to reach around him, there was no chance …. 

Of course, Spock was feeding off these busy thoughts as he kissed her.  He paused -- perhaps needed to pause.  In his enunciation Nyota detected thicker consonants, a slight drag on the vowels, signs that her skin was having its effect on him. 

“If you were to …,”  

He seemed to forget he had started a sentence.  She felt his hips cant back and press forward; the underside of his erection dragged into the crease between her buttocks and Spock blew out three gusty breaths. 

“T’was not in my dream,” he added at last. 

“But do you want to put it in there?” she asked, relishing the double entendre. 

“Yes.” 

Said with emphasis, as though the answer was too obvious to need stating. 


	3. Effervescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter
> 
> sa-nai-masu: semen  
> coia: buttocks

“In your dream,” Nyota asked, “did I turn over?” 

Spock tried, but could not remember.  His head was overcrowded with dream material, all equally and extremely alluring.  And an exquisite, irresistible ache emanated from everywhere his _lok_  waspressed against her, with a keener sensation where it rubbed the bikini – these calls for satisfaction held back all other thinking and there seemed only one way forward. 

“Pplease …,” he sputtered a plea. 

In response, she used her gluteus muscles to clench his erection and send him a wave of -– he did not mistake it -- mischievous excitement.  One of these signals alone would have been enough --, 

Another mental blank followed.  Spock emerged from it to feel himself making the last of what must have been a series of rutting motions between her  _coia_ _._ Then he collapsed in a seizure of orgasm, expelling sounds loudly and directly into her ear, coating her back and his stomach with  _sa-_ _nai_ _-_ _masu_ _,_ thrusting so hard he pushed them both across the rug to its edge.  

He could hear her reactions; more than once he knocked the breath out of her.  But before he could reassert control and lift himself up, her skin communicated something new.   An effervescence – it rushed through them both.  He felt the infusion pry him open, and Nyota’s body trembled.  The next thing he heard was a rapid succession of short squeaks and the same skin sensation, only more pronounced.  He was perfectly aware that, in normal circumstances, he would have taken time to observe and understand her unusual response and decide the best way to respond. 

Instead, he found he was laughing along with her. 

***  

“I’m sorry,” she said, but it was no use.  The apology was just another giggle.   

Spock made it worse by joining in.  

“Oh, honestly,” Nyota wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  “I don’t know why...I didn’t mean to, it just --,” 

But she could tell he understood.  They didn’t do anything for a while except recover their usual breathing pattern while enjoying their freedom to lose control together.     


	4. Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for such a long wait. This last week was a real fight to get control of time at all, particularly time for writing. And erotic scenes take longer. Worth it, mind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter
> 
> kotic - vulva  
> ko-lok - clitoris  
> keshtan-ur - vagina  
> coia - buttocks

“Before this one,” Nyota lifted her head and straightened both her arms, extending them out to her left and right so that they almost reached those edges of the rug.  “Had you ever seen a bikini before?” 

“I had --,” 

To give her more freedom of movement, Spock crawled backwards.  When he passed over the epicentre of his pleasure he could see, where once there had been a neat triangle of red cloth fitted over her _coia_ , there now was a twisted rope wedged between those two plump halves, discoloured by ejaculate.  He badly wanted to extract it with his teeth. 

But before he could succumb, Nyota’s body rolled sideways.  He had to move again, so that her right leg could follow her. 

“You had … ?”  She was prompting him to go find his train of thought again.  He went looking – his thoughts were no longer in their best order. 

“My first year,” he retrieved that much, before the rest escaped and had to be sought again.  “In Academy physical training --,” 

“Ah,” Nyota said, “open water swimming at Baker Beach?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you know that Starfleet have purchased exclusive access to the north shore on Thursdays?  I think the number of non-Academy spectators who turned up to watch those swimming lessons became a distraction.” 

Distraction.  Her movement had caused the red cord over her hip to pull tight, straining the overhand loop knot.  

***  

“I suppose --,” 

Nyota stopped there. Spock had reached down and gently hooked one finger underneath the bikini bottoms, directly below her navel.  His knuckle joint shifted left and right, catching skin on her stomach that was still tacky with sweat.  It injected her with doses of his need, though she already had enough of her own.  She closed her eyes when the itch flared up, the one deep inside that she would need him to reach. 

Her question hung unspoken in her mind.   _I suppose seeing all those bikini-clad girls on Baker Beach gave you a taste for them?_    

The katra of T'Shin answered.  _What other females wore at that time is nothing but an observation of fact to Spock.  His taste is for you._  

The next thing Nyota felt against her stomach was the tip of Spock’s nose, breathing her in.  She rolled onto her back and heard him shift across the rug to keep up. 

“ _Ashayam_ ,” she opened her eyes and caught his head with both her hands.  Just in time.  His meld points throbbed against her palms, pleading.

“Come," she coaxed him.  "Come up here and kiss me.” 

Her mouth was not the strong drug he craved.  He resisted her initially, as she attempted to pull him away from the lower half of the bikini.  But she was rewarded for remembering their night in the desert of  _Eiktra T’Plak_ , and all the maternal advice that streamed across the bond. _Though Spock may lose mental discipline because of you, he remains always in your control.  Assert your authority, and he will submit._     

And thus a man three times stronger than her could be steered by a tug on his hair.  They shared a long kiss, during which Spock’s tongue moved restlessly, searching, sometimes breaking out to lap over her chin and nose and cheeks. 

And with every skin connection he was begging.   _You ache.  Let me satisfy you._  

She replied.   _Anticipation is pleasure too, you know._  

There was an element of self-deception in that protest, which he did not contest with words.  Instead Nyota felt a hand crawl under the bottom of the bikini instead; the zap up her spine jerked her head back.  She squeaked. 

Spock laughed. 

He continued laughing as his fingers slipped inside the wet, warm cleavage of her _kotik_ and carefully stroked, pressing her soft tissues against her pelvic bone to enflame the nerves.  It wasn’t the same kind of laughter which had been handed down by heredity and example through the Uhura family: open mouthed grins wide enough to show all teeth and a rapid ‘heeheeheeheehee’ that rose in pitch and fell and rose again.  Spock laughed deep in his chest, rattled against her.  His smile showed teeth but remained a tight seal, and only short, low noises would happen in his throat that made his Adam’s apple jump. 

Nyota knew she was grinning at his bedroom ceiling, gulping little, strained breaths.  Her _ko-lok_ grew so twitchy and sensitive she felt sure the next time those fingers dragged over it the whole world would end.  Spock drew round it several times before his hand went still. 

 _Would you still prefer anticipation?_  

She pulled his hair.  Perhaps she carried on pulling it.  When Spock resumed his ministrations Nyota heard herself make the most ridiculous caterwauling, and hoped that Vulcans had the foresight to soundproof their private spaces. 

After the first wave of climax Spock sensed potential for more and primed her, dragged along and pulled at the frenulum, entered her _keshtan-ur_ and added the friction of penetration and withdrawal, going deeper each time until they could both feel another sharp, dangerous buildup inside. Her wits temporarily deserted her. 

When they returned, Nyota’s first realisation was that she could feel a trail of wetness going from her mouth and over her chin to trace down her throat and over her collarbone.  Spock, left unsupervised, had moved so that he could help himself to large mouthfuls of her left breast, bikini and skin together.  Careless little bubbles of saliva appeared at the corners of his lips and she could observe how his mind dissembled, slipped into that place of hedonistic euphoria.   

She thought back to a remark Gaila made, when they were sunbathing.   _It would be a crying shame if breasts like yours got any older without being caressed._ What would she think if she saw Spock now? 

She would adore how he stopped suckling only because he was not getting enough air. 

“Ny...ota...,” 

Like a baby, he lifted his head as though the muscles in his neck were not quite strong enough.  Wide eyed, he stared at her and licked his lips, let out a throaty, satisfied hum before blurting out, “This is m’best dream.” 


	5. Rillan Grease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Petakov – a term of endearment like darling  
> Mos – soft  
> Sakal -- testicles 
> 
> Swahili terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Vifungo -- buttocks

“It’s a mess now,  _petakov_.  You don't want it.” 

But Spock did.  He lay face down on the rug between her spread legs, flying so high on _shok_ that he could not move easily or speak.  When she sat up to check on him, saw half the bikini in his grasp and reached for one of the red cords to pull it away, he whined.  His fingers twitched and curled as if to get a better grip, but they had no idea what they were doing. 

“It needs to be washed, that's all.  Don't you want it cleaned?” 

Spock's response was to press his nose into the damp, sticky bikini bottoms and inhale.  That breath came straight out in a long ‘aahhh' of satisfaction. 

Nyota burst into laughter.  Spock’s initial expression looked confused, but he quickly discarded that face in order to follow her lead with his own shaky, muted giggles.  His eyelids fluttered; never remaining open or closed.  

T’Shin spoke.  - _He is close. One more taste of you will send him to sleep _-__

“Okay,” she relented, let the cord drop.  Spock made happy grunts while Nyota located the other half of the bikini and stood up.

“Gaila would die from happiness if she could see us now.” 

The light through the windows had subdued -- though not enough to hide the burn marks on Nyota's stomach and thighs where they had rubbed hard against the rug.  She could feel heat from the ones on her back and _vifungo _.   And in between, her deepest interior with its distracting itch had been well and truly scratched.__

She smiled to herself.  Who would guess that the logical species would make such capable lovers? Touch telepathy added feeling to every caress, adjusted pressure and direction as it read her reactions, and left sharper, fuller memories. 

As she stood remembering, Spock attempted to lift his head. 

“Nnny...?” 

His hand let go of the bikini and began to wander over the rug as if seeking something. 

“I'm just here,” Nyota reassured him. 

She doubted he could follow the direction of the sound, but he surprised her.  His moving arm reached behind him, levered his body onto its side and from there gravity did the rest and flopped him onto his back. 

“Ah,” she said. 

He was hard again.  Nyota shook her head. 

 _“Mother told me you had stamina,”_ she switched to Vulcan, “ _but now I see for myself.”_  

She could not describe the noise Spock made to answer her, but knew what he was asking.   

“We could really use lubricant now.” 

Before the statement finished Nyota was suddenly in possession of new information, the place where she would find some. 

She asked the katra. _-How do you know?-_  

 _-I acquainted myself with Spock’s apartments while you were asleep.-_  

That was the first explanation.  As Nyota turned and walked into Spock's hygiene station, T'Shin revealed more. 

 _-Also, the containers have a distinctive shape-_  

A distinctive weight, certainly.  Nyota needed both hands and effort from her biceps to carry the stone pot and set it down on the rug.  The lid surrendered only after she knelt, trapped the container between her thighs and put her shoulders into the work of turning. 

Spock watched.  He copied the little grunts of effort she made and extra blood fattened the base of his  _lok_ as she lifted the lid. 

The substance inside was the colour of squid ink. 

“ _Mosssss_ _...,”_ Spock murmured. 

Nyota dipped her fingers into the blackness and agreed -– it felt very soft.  She immersed them and the flat of her palm before she pulled back to note how generously she was coated. 

She held up the greased hand so Spock could see. 

“Get ready.” 

He squirmed on the rug like a happy infant while she decided how to start.  Not just a hand job -- the viscosity of Rillan grease put her in mind of oil paint, and suddenly it seemed a waste not to use her artistry over a larger area of canvas.  She coloured his nipples first.  Immediately his eyes closed and his jaw went slack.  Pleasure (when she scratched or pulled) was expressed in wheezy breaths; now and again his tongue stirred but the consonant sounds that resulted, as far as she could tell, were pure accident. 

After that she slowly wrote her name in letters that ran down his body from sternum to stomach.  Spock knew what he felt; she could tell he was trying to say the name of each character the way he had done when she used her stylus on his back.  What he produced for ‘N’ and ‘Y’ were identical noises.  He could articulate ‘O’, and maybe that was why he carried on saying it instead of attempting ‘T’ or ‘A’. 

She drew a heart over the place his would be.  Then she helped herself to more grease and gently changed the colour of his erection.   

When she reached down to catch and soften the skin over his  _sakal_  he turned his ankles out and opened his legs a little.  Pleasure acquired new quality; Spock’s wheezing changed to braying, occasionally another giggle.   Nyota pinned the head of his  _lok_  against his stomach with her ungreased hand.  With the other she opened the gap between her middle and ring fingers, fit the groove of that  _ta’al_ onto the base and ran it up and down his length, riding rough over the ridges.  

Braying became yelping.  Spock had a vocal range he never used, perhaps never knew he had.  “Get ready,” Nyota said again as she caught a key change in his song along with the telltale surge under her hand.   


	6. A Change of Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Must apologise. I am late, and did not get much writing time this week. University assignments are getting longer and need more preparatory reading. My job is also hectic; some of my normal fanfic writing time has been spent catching up on office emails.  
> Good news is that I am about five weeks from finishing coursework for this year. Expect chapters to be published more frequently over the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Invented terms used in this chapter 
> 
> “Jiga court” - Jiga is short for ‘Jiguang Qiu’ or ‘laser ball’ -- a popular Terran sport in the 23rd century that I invented this week! I have not worked out the details yet, and may never need to. For the sake of this chapter, imagine a space the size of two tennis courts joined end to end.

A brief, low frequency vibration rattled Nyota's shin bones as she knelt on the rug, tucking a pillow beneath Spock's head. She felt it again underfoot, when she returned the tub of grease to the hygiene station.

She asked the katra of T'Shin. _-Is_ _that seismic activity?-_

Her mother replied.   _-_ _It is a feature of the Ambassadorial house, controlled by the domestic computer.  It provides a non-intrusive signal to all occupants that a meal will be served in the formal dining room._ \-  

Formal? 

Nyota checked her reflection in the hygiene station mirror.  Her hair beehived at the back of her head and tangled at the sides.  Her skin felt clammy and she was covered in smears and scratches that advertised where and how energetically she had mated with the Ambassador's son.  After several attempts to wash Rillan grease off her hands, some essence of it seemed to remain, seeped into her pores where no amount of sonic scrubbing could reach.  Her fingers looked noticeably grimy. 

 _-I don't think I can be ready in time-_  

T'Shin disagreed.   _-You have the equivalent of one_ _Terran_ _hour and eleven minutes.  In Vulcan households, there is always the possibility that some dinner guests will be deep in meditation and require sufficient time to regain consciousness.-_  

 _-I need to clean Spock as well-_  

 _-There is no urgency, while he sleeps.  For now it will suffice to cover him.-_  

 _-And get black stains on the bedding?-_  

 _-The housekeeper will be expecting --_  

 _-_ _Ko-mekh_ _, please.  I could not look that housekeeper in the face if --_  

 _-Then return to the dressing room.  The chest immediately to the left of the doors contains clothing Spock has outgrown.  A meditation robe should provide an effective layer of protection, and you have the means to clean that yourself-_  

One hour and eight minutes later her hair was tidy and her hands concealed by the long sleeves of her robes. She felt presentable. T’Shin guided her out of Spock’s apartments and downstairs into the shared spaces at the heart of that gargantuan house.  The formal dining room was the size of a Jiga court; it took another minute to walk to the far end of the table where three place settings had been laid and a silicate bowl filled with cut flowers. 

Sarek and Amanda waited for her, each of them standing behind their own chair.  They wore clan signifying robes, black for S'chn T'gai with white embroidery sewn along the lapels.   

Sarek addressed her by her full name, just as he did at the Dean's Dinner.  Only this time he added “daughter of T'Shin, out of clan Tetov’yth _._ ” 

So unreal, to eat a meal in the company of the Vulcan ambassador again.  Amanda sat at the head of the table and made enquiries one might expect from a prospective mother-in-law; she asked about Nyota’s studies that semester, about her career plans.  While Uhura responded, Sarek kept his eyes on her.  Then, when a mention of Golden Gate Park caused both his wife and his houseguest to compare memories and realise that they had attended the same open air concert in 2255, Amanda forgot Vulcan proprieties a while.  Her hands came up from her lap and gesticulated. 

Immediately, Sarek changed his focus to those moving hands. 

That was the moment Nyota realised she would need to completely erase her impressions of him, and start over again. 


	7. Never Trust a Quiet Katra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Ameelah – a Vulcan dessert said to be similar to fried bananas. 
> 
> Navun k’terau maat – an ancient Vulcan expression, literally “success by the joining of clans”, but meaning more like, “welcome to our family” when addressing new relations by marriage. 
> 
> Plak kudaya – correct response to the above. Literally “blood blessing”, expressing gratitude for new family ties.

Throughout dinner, the katra of T’Shin was quiet.  Food, perhaps, appealed only to those with bodies.  Nyota assumed that her mother had returned to Spock’s apartments, to watch over him. 

 _Ameelah_ was served as the final course.  Nyota had never eaten the authentic version and Amanda was curious to hear how T’Shin used to make an imitation using fried plantains.  The tea had been personally cultivated by the monk who abandoned Uhura in the desert; a gift to make amends.  They were pouring second cups when the household computer set off another low frequency signal.  The housekeeper entered the dining room carrying a tray.  Ambassador Sarek moved his chair back from the table and stood. 

“I must finish some neglected business,” he said.  “But I sense you have more than sufficient company in conversation with my wife.” 

The act of _ozh'esta_ between them seemed timed; Spock’s parents touched fingertips on the word ‘wife’.  And when their hands parted, Amanda quickly covered hers with her sleeve and cast her eyes down like an infatuated girl.  The housekeeper made two trips back and forth to clear the table.  The Ambassador’s bondmate did not speak while this was happening, and Nyota did not want the responsibility for deciding when that kind of silence should end. 

Once they were alone, Amanda stole a glance at her guest. 

“Lemon juice,” she said. 

Nyota almost doubted her hearing. 

“I grow two varieties,” Amanda went on.  “A Dwarf Lisbon tree on the covered patio, easy to reach from the kitchen.  But not while T’Haar is there.  We’ll go to my study instead.” 

Nyota followed her lead.  She immediately liked the study.  It was not untidy, but achieved a level of clutter that distinguished it as the human space in the house.  On the windowsill, hidden behind the thick stalks of an aloe vera, was a potted plant with dark green leaves and two fruits. 

“This is actually a citrina,” Amanda lifted the pot from the window and carried it to her desk.  “But that doesn’t matter.” 

From one of the desk drawers Amanda produced a small chopping board and paring knife.  She picked the citrina’s largest fruit and cut it down the middle. 

“You can either rub it on directly, or squeeze the juice into a bowl and dilute with a little water so you can soak your hands in it.  The grease stains fade away after a few minutes.” 

Heat rushed to Nyota’s face.  All that talk about the concert -- Amanda had liked the opening act _Cinco Sons de Anjo_ so much she purchased a subscription to their release feed.  Nyota knew a smattering of Portuguese and showed off, translating some of their lyrics into High Vulcan.  And yes, she had let her sleeve fall back once to beat time with the music as it played in her memory.   

“Oh--,” her brain stopped her before she could add an expletive.  Amanda burst out laughing. 

“That’s why I didn’t take you into the kitchen.” 

“The katra never mentioned lemon.” 

“Vulcan skin reacts differently,” Amanda explained.  “But you’ll be fine now.”  

“Fine?” Nyota protested.  “Lemon juice can’t erase everything.  What did the Ambassador think?”  

***  

Sarek locked himself inside his study, more from habit than necessity.  He had a visitor of sorts, one he had invited to join him for a private conference.   A portion of the room’s floor space was arranged with such meetings in mind: one corner furnished with a low table and three chairs, concealed by a blood dark silicate screen.  He went there and sat down. 

- _Navun k’terau maat_ - 

He said it to show T’Shin that she had inspired a greater interest on his part for close study of ancient Vulcan cultures.  She replied. 

 _-Plak kudaya-_  

The katra chose to illuminate the silicate panel facing him. 

 _-A compensation, since I cannot perceptibly occupy a chair-_  

 _-Does that concern you?-_  

 _-Are you asking, Sarek, whether I regret my decision?-_  

 _-Regret is not the correct term.  Perhaps the Terran phrase “mixed feelings” is more precise-_  

 _-I doubt a Terran would understand.  Death remains an uncomfortable subject for humans-_  

 _-That is because they cannot regard it with pure logic-_  

 _-As I did and still do.  But you know this already.  We reviewed all options – you, myself, T’Pau, Tonev  -- the night Spock came to our tents.  When I proposed that I could do more for my family and for Vulcan if I were no longer confined to my body, none of you opposed me-_  

 _-Have you decided when to tell Nyota?-_  

Light flared and dimmed inside the dark green silicate. 

 _-My daughter is happy.  Her happiness is my desire-_  

 _-And yet I find I cannot entirely set aside my role as diplomat,  T’Shin of clan Tetov’yth.  You occupy her mind.  Can you be certain you will never share any thought or memory which would reveal the truth?  You may find Nyota’s happiness compromised, if this is how she is told-_  

 _-She suffered more from our separation.  I have ensured that will not happen again-_  

Sarek did not immediately formulate a response.  A pause often proved beneficial in an exchange where point was met with counterpoint.  It prevented any corruption of logic with feeling.  In this case there was little danger.  Sarek had no disagreement with the choice T’Shin made to give up her life.  On the contrary, he admired how many problems it solved simultaneously.  Spock could remain with the human he desired, as could Tonev.  Lelar could become a priestess.  T’Pau maintained her moderating influence over Vulcan politics. 

And his own position within the High Council had been bolstered, though no amount of sacrifice could restore it entirely.   

 _-Ambassador, do I detect “mixed feelings” about your own decisions?-_ The katra enquired. 


	8. Turn in Her Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan words used in this chapter: 
> 
> Lirt'k – a unit of time slightly longer than a minute  
> Neikah – the crease or hollow at the junction of the inner part of each thigh with the pelvis. Includes the external genitals. 
> 
> Latin words used in this chapter:
> 
> Saintpaulias ionantha – botanical name for the African violet. If you have read “The Architecture of Emotion”, you will know the significance.

Through the wall behind him, Sarek heard the hum from the induction drive, the sound of the elevator compartment descending from their bedroom. 

It was thirty-eight  _lirt’k_ beyond the time he would normally retire.  Seventy-one  _lirt’k_ before that, the katra of T’Shin informed him that her daughter’s mind was seeking her mother's, and left him alone.  Sarek remained where he was, in his chair which faced two other, empty chairs.  For the purpose of ordering his thoughts, he turned his head in the direction of the left-hand chair when considering arguments in his own defence, and towards the right-hand for those in opposition. 

His consideration hinged on the warning which T'Pau felt obliged to give, after the High Council ended business for the day. 

 _-I suspect that, as a result of this contest, your son and the human who claims him will fall under greater scrutiny-_  

Her words remained with him, troubled him such that he would not rest until he finished managing the emotions.  He agreed with the opinion Amanda expressed during the _kae-kwul_ _:_ Spock had endured sufficient disregard and disrespect from other Vulcans, sufficient discomfort and danger from an unpredictable mating instinct.  Sarek had sent assurance back to her through their bond: Nyota’s victory would force things to change.  

Now he was uncertain.  The elevator doors made a soft slipping noise as they opened behind him. 

The expected sound of Amanda’s voice did not follow.  Nor did her thoughts; the bond was silent.  His bondmate was nothing but the sound of shifting fabric as she walked across the study floor.  Years ago he taught himself a new habit – to turn and look in her direction, regardless of the fact she was approaching and would therefore be seen in due course.  Logic lay in the additional moments this provided him, in which to appreciate what he had. 

She wore her Triaxian silk, a shade she had taken to calling  _saintpaulias_   _ionantha_ without explaining further.  The robe billowed around her, a semi-transparent vapour.  Through it, he discerned the outline of a close-fitting black garment, one he did not recognise.  

Her hair was loose.  As she shook her head, it shook with her. 

“Don’t you know what time it is?” 

Through their bond came a warning that the obvious answer to the question would not be the correct one.  Accordingly, he remained silent.  Amanda came close, reached out to pinch the point of his right ear.  She pulled his head back to its original position as she moved around to stand in front of his chair. 

Her hand smelled of lemon.  From her wrist to her elbow he was afforded a better view of the black garment and realised it was nothing more than a layer of Rillan grease spread over the skin.   

“Are you coming to bed?” she asked.  The satisfying sharpness of her thumbnail planed his antihelixial concave, back and forth. 

“Or will you be like your son?  I cannot give specifics, but I understand he sleeps somewhere he has never slept before.” 

A broken taboo -- her defiance provided a source of relief, as well as discomfort.  Sarek found it more demanding to disarm reactions which contained opposing emotions.  No Vulcan male should know how it was for other males, exactly what they did when their blood burned or they had sated their craving for skin.  He preferred this secrecy.  Yet the psychological sensation of having forbidden knowledge could only be described as a lightness, as if it had been a burden to live alone with his twenty-nine year old memories: waking up with his head at the foot of his bed, discovering around his neck the shoulder strap of what he later learned to call a t-shirt bra. 

To be precise, it was only the shoulder strap.  The rest of the garment had been torn to pieces -- a few threads were trapped between his teeth. 

Amanda’s eyes scanned the room.  She lingered at locations provocative with memories, places illogical for coitus which they had used nonetheless.  Sarek admired how she had erased the natal dimple in the middle of her stomach.  How deep was the layer of grease covering her?  He inserted a finger inside the Triaxian silk and pressed.  To feel the softness, and see the mark left behind when he withdrew, cut off his desire from his means of control.  He heard himself growl. 

“Oh...,” she said, and paused to sigh.  “All very well when I had younger bones.” 

Awash with all his emotions, Sarek blurted out, “Have I done what is best for Spock?” 

Amanda returned her gaze to him, listened to the irrational transmission passing between their minds, which now included his embarrassment for having asked. 

“ _Adun_ _,_ when you suggested a name for our newborn son, it took me a while to grow accustomed.  Odd, really, since I knew many similar Vulcan names.  But I could not associate Spock with the baby in my arms.  Now I cannot imagine any other name that would suit him.” 

Sarek waited, as patiently as he was able (Amanda’s stomach was covered in finger marks), for the moral of her story. 

“It is also true that I cannot imagine him happy, because he never has been.  Perhaps we should also allow time to pass,” she said, “see if we find our impressions gradually altered.” 

She held him by both ears, leaning forward to drive her knuckles into his scalp.  He approved of the increased proximity, because her stomach could not satisfy him much longer.  And it was nothing when compared with her  _neikah_ _._ There he found one of her creases and buried his finger completely. 

“Come upstairs,” there was a plea in her voice, but she did not need to coax.  He would go anywhere she wished.  “I need to change the colour of our sheets.” 


	9. How Far?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms appearing in this chapter: 
> 
> S’Thaupi - my invention, first mentioned in "Love the Unintending Rebel". It is the deepest state of meditation most Vulcans practice, which achieves complete detachment from the self while retaining rational thinking. 
> 
> Vakav'es – frequency, in this case a unit measurement for wavelengths 
> 
> Nashaut – a form of greeting used by bonded individuals or very close friends 
> 
> mu’pla-kur - ultramarine
> 
> Shi-yemek – literally dining rooms, but the term can also mean restaurants

The state of _s’thaupi_ , the aim of most Vulcan meditation, was not beyond Spock’s ability. It could be measured by a medical tricorder, set to scan the mesiofrontal cortex and record the occurance of brainwaves with a frequency between three and five _vakav’es_. The strongest minds could sustain _s’thaupi_ for hours. Vulcan schools held extra-curricular competitions and published their results.

There had been a time when Spock monitored every private meditation in order to improve. Perhaps his continued efforts would have been rewarded. What became clear, on those rare occasions he achieved a personal milestone, was that _s’thaupi_ was easier whenever it followed the build-up and release of sexual tension -- the dreams of Ha'ma. This fact was … difficult to accept. So difficult his younger self decided to stop trying, packed away the tricorder.

This morning's meditation, unrecorded but internally observed, outdid anything from the past.  It gave him cause to reconsider.  As he opened his eyes, Spock recalled that the tricorder would now be inside his dressing room, in the trunk which also contained his school PADD, the bonding gifts returned by T’Pring, and several sets of clothes he had outgrown.

 _It will require recharging, as well as recalibra_ \--

This thought was cut short when the dressing room doors unexpectedly opened, and revealed Nyota.

“ _Nashaut_ ,” she said softly.

She walked barefoot into the bedroom, came as far as the edge of the rug and halted.

“Is this suitable morning wear?”

It appeared she had explored the contents of his trunk already. Her chosen apparel was the uniform designed by the school music department and given to him in his tenth year, to be worn at the touring performances with Quartet Thirteen Hundred and Five. The drab knitted undershirt had close fitting sleeves for ease of movement. Nyota had rolled back the cuffs once. Over that, the _mu’pla-kur_ blue shift was not quite long enough to cover her lower legs, but she had incorporated the brown breeches from her own robes and this completed the ensemble.

“I want to wear something different.  Would this be too formal in the kitchen, while we prepare breakfast?”

“Vulcan etiquette would not consider you a guest, given the  -- ,”

“I know,” she replied. “T’Shin keeps telling me. But I did not have the opportunity last night to thank your father for the part he played. Bringing us together.”

The thought of expressing gratitude for anything his father had done in recent months had not occurred to Spock. Nor could he find, in a mind which had been thoroughly examined during meditation, any sentiment more positive than confusion.

“I see,” he said, to give himself more time.

Following close on confusion came uneasiness. To meet his father’s gaze, in close proximity, knowing that Sarek knew the reason his son had not come down to dinner the previous evening …

Logic reminded him of the last conversation with his mother. She was clear; Sarek had also experienced _shok_. It was inviting to believe this provided a commonality between them, that any look exchanged over breakfast would be his father’s way of acknowledging this, and the beginning of peace between them.

But Spock knew the Vulcan way. Emotive responses which could not be controlled must be resisted as much as possible and never acknowledged. It was not acceptable to challenge this principle and accept the situation or worse, to look forward to the next opportunity he might lose himself in Nyota.

No. His father would be watching for signs of any lapse.  Spock had no more tolerance for being under that scrutiny.

“The garments you have chosen,” he said to her, “have seen more wear outside this house. Therefore, I believe it would be more appropriate to take breakfast elsewhere.”

***

T’Shin could not help. The city as she remembered it did not have establishments serving food in the morning. But she had been away many years.

Nyota was curious to know what Spock had in mind.  While he showered and dressed, she set up a search on her PADD.  The results were surprising – Shi'Kahr had thirty-three _shi-yemek_ – she had always assumed that Vulcans preferred to take meals at home. T’Shin corrected her.

- _That was a personal proclivity. On Terra, I found the noise levels in most restaurants objectionable_ -

By the time Spock was ready, Nyota had checked the opening hours for all these dining rooms. None served breakfast.

“This must be a very exclusive restaurant,” she remarked, leaving the PADD on the bed as she stood.

Spock tipped his head to one side, and she could not see the expression on his face.

“We will need to go to the roof,” was all he said.

Baffled to silence, she followed him out of the bedroom, along a corridor, left through a door that led onto a stairwell.  They went up.  She knew they had reached the roof because light outlined a door at the stop of the stairs.  But they did not exit that way.  Spock opened an adjoining door instead.

“We are beaming there?”

The Ambassadorial transporter room was impressive – a platform with capacity for eight people.  Better than a lot of starships.  Spock was halfway to the control panel when she asked the question.  He stopped and turned to her.

“I just …,” she paused, “it would be nice to walk.  See the landscape.  Do you think I would be able … in the heat?”

Spock considered.

“You seem comfortable with Vulcan temperatures, and this time of day is cooler.  It is the distance which concerns me more.”

“How far?”

“Seven hundred and eighty kilometers.”


	10. Sights and Sounds, New and Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kafa Kuko – Esperanto for “coffee cake”. (I’d like to meet the enterprising souls who decided to open this café on Vulcan, and how long it took before they realised that for reasons of public decency, foods containing chocolate and cinnamon had to be taken off their menu.) 
> 
> Nef Shahov - Vulcan for ‘beach terrace’ 
> 
> Shi-yemek – Vulcan, literally dining room, but also used to refer to a restaurant
> 
> Maesutra - Vulcan for 'ocean'
> 
> Ko-mekh - Vulcan for 'mother'

At first, Nyota could not identify the sound. The transporter feedback had faded out, along with the computer-generated announcement giving instructions for leaving the reception chamber. Their footsteps scraped, now and again, against the finely textured flooring of the exit corridor. But what she could hear was something more, a combination of frequencies, white noise. If asked to locate it she would have said it was leaking through the corners where the corridor walls met the ceiling.

The moment she perceived natural light she also perceived a scent. It moved her; something basic within wanted her to shout but she did not. The katra of T’Shin considered the reaction logical, given where she had grown up.

When the corridor ended, the architectural space suddenly expanded. Behind their backs a stone clad wall vaulted up maybe fifty meters high and one hundred meters in span. Leaning against it was a silicate construction, partly closed and partly open, like a mesh. Put together they presented an airy, open sided wedge, pointed at the top and expansive at the base.

Through the open spaces in the mesh, Nyota caught sight of what she thought she heard and smelled. Water. Water moving in waves – out beyond the structure there was a beach with pale sand and startling blue sea.

“Where are we?”

“ _K’lan_ ,” Spock replied, “on the island state of _Suk’erg_ , also called _Zhir’tan_.”

There were a dozen people in their line of sight, either reading, talking or waiting. Nyota would not do anything so Terran as turn her head to take in a larger sample. The demographic in front of her was two thirds Vulcan, one third off world – a single Coridan, one Nausicaan and two humans.

“We must go this way --,” Spock indicated with a tilt of his head towards the nearest open side of the wedge. They walked with the mesh on their left, passing more Vulcans, a Pelosian couple, another human, a Vulcan who appeared to be instructing a group of Suliban and two Vulcans staring down a Betazoid in what appeared to be telepathic conversation.

“Very different from _Shi’Kahr_ ,” she murmured.

“Indeed. I understand there is a term in Standard – ‘cosmopolitan’. I believe it is used to describe qualities which distinguish coastal cities from those inland.”

“Yes, but it’s dated. It goes back pre-warp – pre-flight, when aliens were people who came across oceans into seaports.”

A very old Andorian, with a prosthetic antenna, sat on a bench away from the sun. Two Vulcan girls, dressed identically, sat beside him and studied information from the same PADD.

“The first shuttleport accepting off-world arrivals was constructed here in 2048,” Spock explained. “Government records show that the decision was taken partly because this state was bounded by the sea.”

“They wanted to quarantine all that alien irrationality?”

He answered her question by changing the subject.

“Would you prefer Vulcan cuisine?”

“There are other options?”

“When we reach the end of this transport facility, you will see.”

 _Nef Shahov_ , that was its name.  A long, broad promenade lined with shops, exhibits and eating establishments whose awning shaded tables overlooked the beach. Nyota wanted to grin with delight, to be brought to such a beautiful place.  Instead she nodded, as if a longheld question had finally been answered.

“I assume you are familiar with some of these _shi-yemek_?” she asked.

“One,” said Spock.

“Then I’d like to go there.”

He took her to Kafa Kuko. Nyota did grin when she saw it – the building instantly made her think of Earth but not any specific location. A single storey building with putty plastered walls, slate tiled roof and lace curtains visible through gothic arch windows. A white picket fence enclosed the outdoor seating.

Every business along the Promenade had an information display on the public pavement, which could translate itself into numerous Federation languages. The one outside the café was forthright about its reputation. _Established in 2099, Kafa Kuko was the first restaurant offering Terran cuisine on Vulcan. To date we have served 23,896,437 customers, of which 11,358,843 have been Vulcan. All menu items are plant-based, and no intoxicants (as defined by city bylaw 14.22.80.10) are sold or stored on the premises._

“Let me guess,” Nyota said when they had been seated and given a menu PADD. “Your mother used to bring you here.”

“Correct.”

“When was the last time?”

“Seven years, seven months and seven days previously.”

Nyota looked up from the PADD. “Interesting numbers.”

Guessing from the absent look in his eyes, it may also have been an interesting day. But she would not ask him in a public place. She returned her attention to the menu. After some deliberation, a message was sent to the kitchen ordering two bowls of cornmeal porridge, sliced melon and a selection plate of dumplings with a fiery dipping sauce. Everything was delicious.

After breakfast she asked if they could walk the full length of _Nef Shahov_. The number of people on the promenade had increased. Nyota noticed that off-worlders favoured the shops and exhibits while Vulcans were more likely to be on the beach side of the pavement, consulting another series of information panels. Curious, she spotted a panel without any readers and approached it.

“ _Poems composed in K’Lar on the subject of oceans or water_ ,” she read the header aloud, before falling into silence. T’Shin, in her youth, had published verse; she came closest to expressions of emotion with poetry. The katra made a request.  Nyota took a step back from the panel and let her gaze track the motion of the waves instead. Inside her mind, her mother gave a recital.

- _Maesutra breathes like a child and dances on this shore_ -

Behind Nyota, the voices of children became more distinct, as if remixed.

- _And doubtless I am infected by it, since I recall a time when the pressure of my own weight was carried on lumbrical muscles behind my toes_ -

“ _Ko-mekh_ …,”

Closer, that voice -- maybe less than a meter. Nyota tried to guess the age, just from hearing those two syllables.

- _Sand is washed out from under my feet_ -

“ _Ko-mekh_ …?”

Four years old? Give or take twelve months.

- _An immeasurably short time to be liberated from the solid ground of logic, and long to jump higher_ -

Nyota felt a tug on her blue robe.

“ _Ko-mekh_ , why have you changed clothing?”

‘An immeasurably short time’ also described how briefly Nyota felt satisfaction when she turned around and confirmed her guesswork. It ended when the Vulcan toddler let go of her clothes.

“You are not my _ko-mekh_.”

The little girl’s eyes opened wide.

“How have you acquired her uniform?” she asked.

Nyota crouched to bring herself down to the girl’s eye level. “Your _ko-mekh_ has a uniform like this?”

“Affirmative. She wears it on stage, when the quartet performs. You are a Terran, yet you speak Vulcan without an accent, and very capably.”

Spock had also turned away from the information panels. He ignored the child, surveyed the pavement in both directions, as if searching for someone.

“I will give credit to my _ko-mekh,"_ Nyota said to the girl, "for teaching me.”

“Your mother is Vulcan?”

Nyota skirted the question. “I believe it would be more logical if we used our time to locate your mother.”

“Not necessary,” Spock suddenly broke his silence. “I see her.”


	11. Head Held High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have not read the previous story in the "Missing Pieces" series called "Matchmaking", you might find all this talk about a quartet confusing. In my AOS universe, Spock, T'Pring and Stonn were all accomplished musicians who played the Vulcan harp. Spock and Stonn were members of Quartet Thirteen Hundred and Five, up until Spock and T'Pring ended their bond. T'Pring took Spock's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter (terms taken from https://www.starbase-10.de with gratitude for such a helpful resource) 
> 
> Ko-mekh – mother 
> 
> Nef-Shahov – beach terrace 
> 
> Ka’athyra - the Vulcan harp 
> 
> Kofu – daughter 
> 
> T'nar pak sorat y'rani - A formal Vulcan greeting 
> 
> Mat-kali'fee – My invention. The literal translation is “Kali’fee possession”. Spock is identifying himself as claimed by Nyota as per Chapter 17 of “The Architecture of Emotion”

Spock heard Nyota ask, “Your _ko-mekh_ has a uniform like this?”

And the child replied. "Affirmative. She wears it on stage, whenever her quartet performs.”

He had calculated the odds of a chance encounter. Though it had been rare for T’Pring to project any emotion during the time they were bonded, what little she did share revealed an attraction to coastal geography, to oceans themselves. T’Pring had been born in K’Lar; perhaps that explained the affinity. Or (he thought this more likely) it may have developed because it existed within Stonn, her second bondmate, who chose to specialise in marine sciences and was employed here. Either way, she would seek out the beaches for meditation whenever Quartet Thirteen Hundred and Five held concerts in coastal cities.

Or so he had believed.

Spock turned aside from the information panel, and searched among the faces he could see on the promenade. After six point ten seconds he identified his ex-bondmate, though she was twenty-two meters distant and partly obscured by passers-by. Ironically, she stood near the entrance to the temple, and one could not mistake the way she held her head.

Seven years, seven months and seven days.

Marriage bonds do not vanish the instant they are broken. The priestess who severed them --

The child was summoned telepathically. Spock watched the girl turn abruptly from Nyota and walk away into the pedestrian traffic stream.

\--the priestess advised there would be some psychic discomfort. She advised both T’Pring and Spock not to be alone in the hours immediately after they left the temple. And so, when he re-joined his mother, waiting for him on the _Nef Shahov_ , he agreed to have a meal with her at Kafa Kuko.

He ate waffles for the first time, and very likely the last.

Nyota rose from where she had crouched to speak with T’Pring’s daughter, and smoothed down her blue shift.

“What else should I know about these clothes?” she asked. “Will I be mistaken for anyone else?”

“Unlikely,” he replied. “But I am grateful you chose to wear them.”

“Why?”

“It is difficult to explain.”

At the sound of her voice, Spock had shifted his attention away from the promenade. What little distance there was between himself and Nyota he closed, standing close enough, he knew, to be attracting the attention of strangers.

“Until today,” he went on, “the sight of this uniform would have triggered unhelpful memories. I would ask you to keep it, to continue the process of rehabilitating those psychological associations.”

“All right.”

He leaned into her, so that her face almost filled his field of vision, so that there was no one else. Nyota knew this was not correct public decorum on Vulcan, even in a melting pot such as K’Lar. She was questioning him with the crease between her brows.

“Is that all?” she asked.

Admirable, how the line of her mouth remained flat and expressionless while at the corners he could watch twin dimples appear and disappear repeatedly. They were normally the precursors to a smile. She deported herself so well it challenged his own restraint. The voice of some impulse was shouting inside his mind at the crowd, at T’Pring in particular. _Seven years, seven months and seven days ago I could not hold up my head on Nef Shahov. We came here so as not to stand out, my human mother and I. We came to K’Lar to be anonymous, to enter an insignificant temple on the promenade as if pausing for meditation. I went in bonded. I came out and the only task for which I seemed capable was to count the paving stones. I failed to notice the ocean or its poetry._

“I believe so,” he answered.

***

After that funny little incident, they continued their walk. At the end of the _Nef Shahov_ furthest from the transporter station the wide pavement suddenly became full of holes.  These, Nyota saw, were small amphitheatres with stone risers, their capacity maybe thirty to forty persons each. Spock chose one of them, and led her down to the front row.

On stage, two Vulcan musicians played _ka’athyra_ and what the katra of T’Shin identified as _kolchak_ , a row of slender pipes taking air from a single mouthpiece. Nyota recognised several pieces. When the music was strange to her, she would keep her head still but move her eyes so she could watch Spock as he watched the stage, totally absorbed.

She might have stayed like that, had she not discovered that she was also a subject under study. The girl who had called her _ko-mekh_ by mistake sat three levels up on the opposite side of the stage, and was openly staring at Nyota. The Vulcan woman on the girl’s left knew how to be more discreet but her gaze, when it shifted in Nyota’s direction, was as dark and arresting as Spock’s. There came a point when neither the watcher nor the watched could deny their eye contact. The Vulcan woman nodded once, a subtle movement that would scarcely register as a gesture on Earth.

When the performance ended, Spock caught the attention of the musicians and acknowledged them with the same nod. He did not stand to leave, as did the audience around them, but stayed and watched as the duet cleaned and packed away their instruments.

It wasn’t long before Nyota heard a familiar voice.

“My _ko-mekh_ has explained why you might be wearing the uniform for the quartet.”

When the _ko-mekh_  herself drew up gracefully alongside, she reminded her daughter, “A stranger you speak with deserves the courtesy of an introduction, _kofu_.”

“My name is T’Pelith,” the girl complied.

But the mother had no need to introduce herself. “ _T'nar pak sorat y'rani, T’Pring_ ,” Spock greeted the adult Vulcan formally. “I am accompanied by Cadet Nyota Uhura of Starfleet Academy. I am her _mat-kali'fee_.”

It was challenging to keep a straight face while T’Pring scrutinised her a second time.


	12. Headline News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> T'nar pak sorat y'rani - a formal greeting 
> 
> Ka'athyra – the Vulcan harp 
> 
> Gla-tor nash-veh Stonn se talsu shi’masu - this is my invention, cobbled together from the Vulcan Language Dictionary (https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/). I want it to mean, literally “I see that Stonn is the one who finds an oasis”. This is an old Vulcan idiom, probably taken from a line of poetry, a way of congratulating a bonded couple who are expecting a child.

After a few moments of this intense examination, Nyota watched T'Pring turn away and face the two musicians on stage. The burly Vulcan, the one who had been playing the _ka'athyra_ , excused himself from a conversation with his partner, stepped off the performance area and approached them.

“ _T'nar pak sorat y'rani_ ,” he said to Spock.  “You honour us.  We expected the citizens of Shi’Kahr to seek you out in numbers, and satisfy themselves that the reports are accurate.” 

“Reports?” Nyota asked. 

The Vulcan gave her a deferential dip of his head.  “I am Stonn, bondmate of T’Pring.  The first bulletin from the capital this morning led with the news of your successful challenge.” 

“We were not aware,” Spock said. 

In her mind, Nyota asked the katra of T'Shin how this could be.  Surely the High Council would not want the affair to become public knowledge. T’Shin did not respond immediately, and when she did it was as if she had heard her daughter ask a completely different question. 

 _-Notice how T’Pring wears her sash, wrapped first around her throat from front to back, knotted and then pinned into her gathered hair.  The pins are ancient phallic symbols.  This headdress indicates that she is pregnant; the number of pins indicate the age of the unborn child in months.  Etiquette obliges other females to recognise this and respond.  You must repeat after me-_  

Nyota did as her mother asked.  “ _Gla-tor nash-veh Stonn se talsu shi’masu_ ,”  she said. 

It would have been expecting too much, to surprise the adults with such extensive knowledge of Vulcan customs.  T’Pelith, on the other hand, was less practiced in emotional control and her eyes, as big and dark as her mother’s, opened wide. 

“ _I will have a sister,”_ the little girl told them. 

Stonn went on to recite the contents of the Shi’Kahr bulletin.  Whoever wrote it wanted to set the record straight regarding T’Shin and the work she had done on Earth, and described Cadet Nyota Uhura as the crowning achievement of those efforts.   

And then T'Pring touched her husband’s sleeve. 

 _“Adun,_ perhaps Spock came to _Nef-Shahov_ in order to play the _ka’athyra_ for his _mat-kali' fee_.” 

Spock replied before Stonn could.  “It has been many years since I performed for an audience.” 

But T’Pring’s bondmate said, “As I recall, you were always your most discerning listener.  I offer you my stage and my harp, if this is Cadet Uhura’s desire.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to all my readers because I was not able to publish anything last weekend. This was a one-off situation -- a number of obligations changed their due dates and working to meet those ate up all my writing time.


	13. One of Three Sofas

“I do remember,” Spock said, responding to the question Nyota asked two point nine seconds before the transporter hub in K'Lar beamed them back home.

But then she seemed to lose interest in the subject.  Once they had re-materialised inside his parents’ house she pressed herself against him, reached up and her hands traced both sides of his jaw and ran into his hair.  Through his skin he felt her desire to be kissed.  From her lips he experienced again that elevation of mood, like hearing the notes of a familiar song and having the mind race ahead of the music while at the same time race backwards to the memory of how the piece first impressed itself upon him. 

This must be how it felt to be happy. 

Either that, or the opiate of her skin, fragmented his concentration.  The household computer made an announcement while he was adjusting the angle of his head and shoulders to taste the underside of Nyota’s chin.  Her disrupted breathing was the only sound which seemed to matter; when the computer went silent he realised he did not know what it had said. 

At some point they paused.  “So much for music lessons,” she murmured.  It was a reference to her earlier question, asking whether he recalled how he had promised to teach her to play the  _ka'athyra_.

“I apologise,” he said, and took a step back from their embrace.  “I failed to perceive that your enquiry was a request for tuition.” 

“Well...,” she sighed.  He had not altogether removed himself from her touch, and the fingers on her left hand toyed with his earlobe.  She sighed again. 

“Did you ever dream about teaching me?” 

Instantly the inventory of his dreams issued an appropriate recollection, but before he could describe it Nyota made a confession. 

“I did.” 

Her left hand slipped down onto his shoulder, then down again to his elbow.  She pulled him by the sleeve until they were both away from the transporter platform. 

“It, um...,” she bowed her head slightly, so that he saw her eyes through the veil of their lashes.  “My dream took place on your apartment sofa.” 

“I see.” 

“During my short time on Vulcan, I have not yet seen a sofa.” 

“An astute observation.  However,” he added, “the Ambassador’s residence is an exception.  It has three sofas, one of which is in my reception room.” 

“Then that’s perfect,” she enthused.  “Maybe you could show me how the fingering is done?  I tried to follow what you did on stage, but your hands moved so --,” 

He interjected.  “-- You seem to have forgotten one thing, Nyota.” 

“What’s that?” 

“The _ka’athyra_ itself.  Mine remains on Earth.”  

“Oh, we won’t need that.” 


	14. The Music Lesson

Just how large _was_ the Ambassador's house?

“I don’t know where we are,” Nyota said, as they walked along another corridor.  

“One floor below my private wing, where we have slept.” 

After he told her this, Spock addressed the domestic computer and asked it to prepare the terrace.  “Option three,” he indicated, and the computer acknowledged. Nyota heard a noise on her left and what had been a wall suddenly split in two and the door panels swept aside to create a wide entrance, as if it expected to receive many people. 

Understandable.  The space on the other side was expansive, with several seating arrangements interspersed with art objects, including holovid panels whose images refreshed themselves as Nyota approached.  This was a place for entertaining. 

Spock chose their path through this reception room, aiming for the wall on the opposite side which, like the entrance, was changing its form.  Nyota could see the modular construction as each panel gradually altered, became a series of frames, the interior of which grew more permeable to the outside and let in light.  Then she felt a breeze. 

“How is it … ?” 

Nyota did not know how to finish her question. 

“The technology is a recent development on Vulcan,” Spock explained.  “My father requested these installations to showcase how these walls can let in natural light and air while filtering out dust.” 

Nyota could see the desert and the mountains; the entire back wall of the reception room was now a sweeping landscape panorama. 

“Beautiful,” she said. 

“And thereby enhancing the purpose of the sofa.”  Spock pointed to his right, to draw her attention to a particular arrangement of furniture.  Rattan, her eyes told her and Spock confirmed, the pieces were a gift his mother received many years ago after a diplomatic visit to Starfleet offices in Saigon.  Two armchairs and a sofa had sunlight warming the mocha brown fabric on their seat cushions. 

And so began their ‘lesson’.  It was Nyota’s turn to describe her dream. 

“You sat in the middle of the sofa, and I sat between your open legs.” 

Spock gave her a look, one clearly meant to accompany a sentence beginning, “I would never --,” 

“Of course it isn’t realistic,” she agreed.  “That is why I had to dream it.” 

While he went obediently to take up his assigned place, Nyota stayed where she was and quickly removed her boots, her trousers and the distinctive blue shift which had caused her to be mistaken by T’Pelith for her mother.  She draped the clothing over a holovid panel and approached the sofa wearing only the undershirt, which being a little too long came down to her mid-thigh. 

It rode up as she bent and wriggled to get herself snugly wedged between Spock’s thighs. 

“Given these circumstances,” he spoke softly into her ear, “it would be unlikely I could concentrate on the lesson as much as my student.” 

Nyota shifted her shoulder blades and felt them rub against his chest.  “I think we will still make beautiful music together.” 

She tipped her head back and watched him watch her as she licked her lips.  Spock took one long, heavy breath in and out and his kiss was a surrender without resistance.  His tongue pushed inside  and played with hers, leaving a tingle where it touched that was pure with happiness.   _Shok_ improved on that, inflating the joy second by second.  Nyota counted to thirteeen before she turned her face away, and she could feel his mood fizz. 

He made a giddy ‘hah’ sound as she straightened her head and shoulders, and stretched her arms out in front of her. 

“Now,” she said, “imagine a _ka'athyra_ _,_ right here.  Where should I place my fingers on the strings?” 

She had confidence now in his ability to pretend.  His hands took her at the waist, rode slowly up the sides of her shirt, over her shoulders and along the sleeves – as blatant with intent as she had been when she sat down.  As his fingers reached her hands, the instant skin met skin, it was a jolt they both felt, like a current shot through them from under the sofa cushion. 

Nyota whispered, “yes.”  Spock ground the bridge of his nose into the back of her head. 

For what seemed ages they did not move.  Spock’s fingertips nested in the sheaths of skin between her knuckles, communicating lust.  It was foreplay on another level, a telepathy of nerves.  Nyota’s body hummed with it, and she must have shifted her hands without realising because the frequency suddenly shot up and fell back.  The skin between her legs buzzed and when that made her fidget, she could feel she was wet. 

And Spock was hard, a prod against the small of her back. 

Carefully, consciously, she curled her own fingers so they trapped and squeezed his.  The result was transporting, delicious – they both lost control of their breathing.  Spock’s head slipped so that his mouth clamped against her throat and he began to suck like a vampire needing to extract blood.  She relaxed her grip just long enough to gulp some air and then squeezed again.  Something tipped. Deep in her vagina she could swear that fingers played against the muscle walls and the first sweet note of climax made her moan, plant her ankles against the floor and drive herself as hard against him as she could.   

Awareness grew hazy.  She knew their hands, though still linked, dropped out of mid-air at some point and landed on the sofa.  To Nyota it seemed they acted of their own will, two writhing copulations on either side of them.  Spock released her throat so that he could slouch forward, get fuller contact between his  _lok_  and her pelvis, whose movements she could not control any more than her hands.  She was lost in the erotic inevitable, the pang after pang of internal build up which made her dreams seem third rate. 

She climaxed screaming.  She had no idea when Spock came, only that he must have done.  His breaths were ragged and hot, steaming a patch of scalp on the right side of her head. 

When she was able to speak, she said weakly, “In my dream, we lasted longer.” 

Spock replied with less than best enunciation, tipsy words slipping into each other. 

“T’would seem imperative toattemptagain.”  


	15. One Kiss Too Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For help understanding how this chapter fits with my other stories, I recommend rereading -- 
> 
> 1\. Missing Pieces Series, "Matchmaking", chapter 1-3 but in particular chapter 3 titled "Searching Brown Eyes" where Nyota sees a photograph of Spock as a boy.  
> 2\. Soul Possessions Series, "A Tale of Two Tyrants" chapter 17 titled "Surprises" when Nyota recalls the last time Amanda appeared when she was not expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:

Everything she said was logical.  He was not incapable of seeing that.  Not in the slightest.   

“Spock, you must want to change clothes.” 

Yes and no.  Vulcan undergarments were designed with more foresight than a single ejaculation could thwart.  And he liked – yes, liked how easily his slick genitals moved under Nyota's weight.  It felt good, very good, and he would have more. 

“And this sofa is not big enough for you to sleep on.” 

His old undershirt had acquired a new texture now that she wore it.  Very good, under his fingers, where it stretched tight over Nyota's stomach.  Where was her navel?   

“I think we should go upstairs.” 

Where?  He could press into her.  Yes, turn her over and press into her, ask for more kisses. 

“Come."

He felt his arms being moved aside, and then Nyota’s body dragged forward --, 

“Ahhh, Ny--!” 

Exquisite sensation.  And then her warmth was gone.  He lifted himself onto his elbows, and the sunlight in his eyes was simply … beautiful. 

“That's it.  Keep going.” 

What was _it_?  He felt her hand on his shoulder. 

“Just a short walk, okay?  You can have more kisses once we get you to bed.” 

A breeze across his face brought sudden clarity of thought.  He was inebriated by  _shok_.  Nyota would know what was necessary and he needed to pay attention.  She needed him to get up --, 

He was embarrassed by the sounds he made, grunting with efforts that did not seem to achieve as much as intended.  And the floor reminded him of the surface of a soup pot, simmering.  He hesitated to put weight onto his boots. 

But his perceptions improved, somewhat, once he was standing.  Nyota wrapped her arm around his waist and he could reciprocate, thereby enjoy that interesting tactility of his shirt on her body.  They walked as far as the nearest holovid panel before his vision blurred and he reached out to steady himself.  The edge of the panel felt wrong; it slipped away from him.  And there was a noise. 

“Don’t worry,” Nyota said.  “I will come back for those clothes.” 

The panel helped him regain focus, because he knew the series of images it was programmed to display.  Images from the past: the renovation of this wing and installation of the exterior wall, the craftsman from Ovek who laid the mosiac tiles on the outside terrace, a young I-Chaya turning over stones to hunt lizards, the reception which was held in the finished room for a select group of pupils and parents from his educational institute.  He should explain. 

“T’Pring,” he said, pointing her out from the others in the picture.  “Sh...wasmy bondmate.” 

Nyota replied.  “I wondered – you know, when we met her.  Gaila told me you had been bonded, and it did not work out.” 

“I never …,” the rest of the sentence evaporated from his thoughts, and he had to try and rethink the concept he needed so much to convey to her. 

“Never … never like this.  Like you.” 

She began to rub his back.  “When you said ‘seven years, seven months and seven days’," she asked, "was that when it ended?” 

He nodded.  She must have understood; the arm around his waist gripped him tighter.  Or perhaps he was not as steady on his feet as he perceived, because suddenly her tone of voice seemed alarmed. 

“Oh -- oh no! No …,” 

She was pointing at the panel.  The image had refreshed, and now displayed a photograph of Quartet Thirteen Hundred and Five, taken before they began their first public tour. 

“Is that you?” she asked. 

He nodded, and she embraced him. 

“You were _that_  boy!” 

Nyota freed up one of her hands, lifted it so that she could place the fingertips against his meld points.  He became party to animated conversation between her and the katra of T’Shin. 

 _-Ko-_ _mekh_ _, do you remember …,-_  

 _-You know that I remember everything.  You were twelve years, four months and four days old-_  

 _-… was after you explained_ _k_ _oon_ _-_ _ut_ _-la …-_  

 _-… and before you asked if I would arrange a Vulcan bonding for you.  Now I see you did not make your wishes entirely clear-_  

 _-I did not know who he was, ko-_ _mekh_ _.  He was just a boy in a photograph.  I thought you would tell me I was being foolish-_  

Memories ran alongside the words.  T’Shin in secret contact with his father about the possibility of bonding him with her daughter, his father concerned that Spock might be insulted if offered an introductory meeting with a human female (and his own pain, at realising this was a plausible supposition).  And Nyota unaware of anything, but only yearning to know more about the Vulcan boy in the photograph with searching brown eyes. 

Relief came -- Nyota kissed him, her lips pressing his own flat against his teeth.  Tasting her made everything good … very good. 

The last thing he heard the katra of T’Shin say,  _\- Between seven and ten seconds.  And be prepared for some disorientation; very likely you will need to explain what you have already explained -_  

 _“_ All right,” Nyota’s mouth seemed larger, softer after she finished the kiss and tipped her head back to look into his eyes.  He smiled. 

“Do you remember where we are going?” she asked. 

***  

He just started to giggle, and listed in her direction with a hungry look.  Nyota used her melding hand to divert him; a gentle push was all it took to make his head land against her shoulder instead. 

“Okay, my fault,” she said, smirking.  “That may have been one too many.” 

So they had to stay in one place a little longer while she rubbed his back and talked through the stages of their journey – out of the reception room and back to the elevator which brought them down from the transporter pad. 

“Kisses,” he interrupted.  His hand found a way underneath her shirt, his skin clearly thrilled to discover she wore flimsy Terran lingerie. 

“No kisses going up,” she said.  “We only need the next floor.  That’s where you told me your bedroom was, yes?”  

*** 

Halfway up the stairs Amanda stopped, questioned her judgement.  She wondered whether any Vulcan mother found herself reluctant to play the role of  _pe'le'ut'la_  –- chaperone.  It was all very well, the part where one presented their offspring for a bonding ceremony.  Spock had been a boy.  It was quite another thing to creep around her grown son’s private space, peeking through open doors, listening, hoping to be present only when her help was needed but not – definitely not – at any other time. 

Sarek believed it best to send her.  He failed to make a connection with the katra of T’Shin, and there had been no response to the request he made via computer.  Amanda checked the household system and located Spock and Nyota exiting the north wing elevator on the first floor, having come from his reception room.  If she hurried, she might intercept them before they began any … 

She climbed three more steps, to be certain of what she just heard.  Nyota’s voice she could identify -- 

“Okay, you’re okay.  Come this way a little.” 

But after that? 

She took two more steps.  Now there was only the familiar sound of _lap-stan-_ _tukh_  boot soles making contact with the floor.  They were too close to allow Amanda the luxury of deciding whether to turn around and go back.  Even if she ran, she would be seen.  But she considered running.  Those approaching boots struck an uneven rhythm, and she was almost certain --  

Suspicions confirmed.  The two of them appeared where the corridor met the top of the staircase.  Amanda acted on reflex, put a hand over her mouth.  Spock had lost his centre of gravity -- his hips canted ahead, shoulders slacked behind.  Nyota had to function like a brace, pulling him until his legs had no choice but to fumble some kind of forward motion.  He would be a heavy load to move.  No wonder the cadet stopped for breath. 

Nyota spotted her first. 

“Oh,” was all she said. 

She wore one of Spock’s old undershirts, though if he carried on gathering it into the crawling fingers of the hand around her ribs there wouldn’t be much of Nyota left to the imagination.  And a mother should not ask herself what her son thought about the exposed pair of lavender cotton panties with lace insets at the side seams. 

“I apologise,” Amanda said, “if I had any idea I would disturb you when I should n--,” 

“ _Ko-mekh!”_  

Spock let his head tip in her direction and grinned when he saw her.  Laughter lines grew from the outer corners of his eyes. 

“ _Ko-_ _mekh_ _, I --,”_  

He blinked twice, rolled his eyes to the ceiling and back.  And then he started to laugh. 

Overwhelmed was not the word.  This was the sound Amanda could not identify because she had never, ever heard it before.  Spock had not laughed since he was so young, long before his voice broke, when he made words using a baby’s teeth and tongue.  Now his chesty, baritone giggles were creating tremors all through his body, threatening an already shaky balance.   

Amanda ran then, up to the top of the stairs to bolster him.  Nyota mouthed the word, “Thanks.” 

“ _Ko-mehk_ _,”_ under his fluttering lashes his pupils were blown out and glassy.  “I love you.” 

Before Amanda could reply he swung an arm around her upper back and pulled her close.  She was bestowed one sloppy kiss where her hair parted.  That was too much. 

“Well,” she said, using the word to test whether her voice would tremble.  “That is very good to know.  But you and I can talk later.  First we should get you to bed.” 

She kept her lips clamped between her teeth after that.  When Nyota asked for help to remove Spock’s outer robe, Amanda let her watch while she unfastened the clips under his arms, and mimed how the garment would fall away once the same fastenings were opened at the shoulders.  And then she left.  As soon as she was out of sight she ran, down the stairs to the north wing portico, across the rotunda and through the music room to her study.  The household computer recognised her, opened the doors she could not see because she was blinded by tears. 


	16. Hahahahahaha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter 
> 
> Nenikau – support  
> Ash'ai – socks  
> E'shua – demon (pre-Reform)  
> “the two words in Vulcan were similar” -- pekh-mev is the word for ‘intestine’ and pehkau the word for ‘stop’.  
> Hahahahaha – Spock repeating the Vulcan word ‘yes’

He begged Nyota. His mouth felt dry and his gums ached. 

“No,” she told him, “no kisses in front of your mother.” 

What did she mean?  He turned his head in the direction they had come, through his bedroom door.  The outline of the frame was blurry, but even he could see that no one was there. 

He tried to tell her that it was hardly … hardly in front …  

He needed to lean on her, only for a moment. 

… hardly in front of his mother when the house was  _so large._  

Nyota shook her head at him. 

“She is standing right behind you.” 

Absurd.  He would hear her, were that the case.  But he decided not to dispute the fact.  Nyota had removed his outer robe.  If he was kind to her, she might remove more. 

He was not certain how they subsequently moved to his hygiene station or entered the shower enclosure.  His mind was chopping up time as it did in dreams.  It was also unclear how Nyota had become so proficient with the enclosure controls, enough to know she could ask for more than one form of  _nenikau_ equipment.  She requested an upper body sling -- the first time one had ever been used.  The computer opened a panel in the ceiling and lowered the apparatus. 

He aided the fitting as best he could.  Nyota had him lift each arm one at a time, so she could slide the harness straps under them and around his chest.  He was particularly grateful for the head support, which wrapped snug around the back of his neck once the computer had adjusted the retraction to straighten his spine.  That allowed him to relax and Nyota to move freely.  She stood back and stretched and smiled at him.  He smiled back. 

“Right,” she said, “now we can get you naked.”   

Delightful.  He asked for kisses again. 

“Soon,” she said. 

How soon?  She ducked out of view.  He felt his boots and  _ash’ai_ slip off his feet.  Then Nyota gathered his inner robe, drawing the hem all the way up to his throat and feeding the cloth through the sling straps to hold it in place.  Last of all, he felt her open the fastenings of his breeches and turn down the waistband. 

“Hmm.  Very thoughtful design.” 

He could not see what she saw.  His gathered robe, combined with the neck brace, restricted what he could do with his head.  But he presumed she referred to the detachable inset sleeve at the front of his undergarments.  It was not a substitute for self-control but an aid, or should control become out of the question, it helped preserve both external appearances and personal hygiene.  

It was intensely pleasurable to sense the pressure of her fingers around and inside that sleeve, carefully trying to extract his  _lok_ but not carefully enough.  He was growing, making himself a snug fit. 

***  

“There may be only one way to get you out, _ashayam_ _,_ if you get my meaning.”  Nyota said. 

The sound Spock made over her head was deep-throated, and finished with a gruff, “Please.” 

Such an interesting discovery, that Vulcan underwear for males came fitted with a removable condom.  Unwittingly, Spock was demonstrating how the sheath could expand forward into the breeches without showing, since the pants were loose and shaped by an internal crinoline.  She would never be able to look at the silhouette of a fully clothed Vulcan man in the same way again. 

Asking Spock what he wanted might or might not get a coherent response.  It was time to improvise.  Nyota leaned in, put her mouth against his stomach under the navel, sucked the flesh between her teeth and chewed on him.  And she tried not to laugh at his reactions, which were both shameless and slurred.  He called her  _e’shua_ _,_ urged her to eat out his intestines (and also to stop eating – the two words in Vulcan were similar and articulation was no longer his strong point).  

Then she had a better idea.  Standing up, she removed the sonic showerhead from its dock and tested the different pulse settings against one open palm.  Between the third and fourth variation Spock made a pained sound and she glanced up, saw his eyes fixed on her hand.  She continued her testing but turned her wrist slightly so he could see how the sonic force beat tiny dents into her skin. 

“Ny …,” 

He was gulping breaths.  Nyota lifted one of his hands and let the fifth variation draw over his finger pads like a tattoo needle. 

“Have you ever done this?” 

That was what she wanted to ask.  But she would have needed to shout, because Spock was open mouthed and rasping, “ _Hahahahahaha_ _…,”_  

She moved the showerhead down inside his breeches, and licked his hand instead.


	17. In a Very Good Place

All feeling and no feeling. 

The words simply came to him, as his rate of breathing began a slow return to resting state.  Sheer nonsense words, yet Spock was pleased with them. He felt so much and he felt nothing at all.

He felt his _lok_ slip easily out of its sleeve as Nyota removed his breeches.  She clasped him by each ankle to lift his feet one at a time until she had pulled the garment free.  He felt the sonic shower pulse, on a gentler setting, travel repeatedly over all the slack muscles below his heart.  The sensation was too much and it was not enough.

He sighed at this superb irrationality.

Nyota asked, "Are you comfortable?"

Before he could answer (was there any need?) she went on to elaborate --, "Does your back hurt?  Are the straps starting to chafe?  Do you wish you could move your head?"

She touched him in the places which corresponded to each enquiry, finally reaching up to comb her fingers into his hair.  Her eyes, like the sun rising, were just visible over the gathered fabric of his robe.

He could not comprehend her. The hand on his face; how might he convince her to keep it there?  He tilted his neck and felt the pad of her thumb press one of his meld points.

"Huh," she said.  But she realised what he wanted, adjusted the angle of her hand for a full meld.  He felt her mind enter, felt her consciousness swim through the unarranged, unqualified stream of his.  She swam deeper, where thinking was usually clear but now murky, perhaps bottomless.  The feeling --

The feeling forced his eyes shut.

***

"You," Nyota said, talking to herself really, since Spock was reacting to the meld like another kind of seduction, groaning softly.

"You are in a very good place."

The _katra_ of T'Shin agreed, and made a suggestion. It was not communicated with words; the idea occurred to Nyota as if it were her own. But there was no way she knew enough to think of it herself.

" _Tum-vel,"_ she addressed the domestic computer, "activate the swing."

The knowledge was simply there, like a memory. Nyota knew how much time was needed for the ceiling to reopen -- long enough for a gentle withdrawal of her mind from Spock's. As the new apparatus descended into the shower enclosure she knew that the support panel had to be passed between his legs and attached to his sling at the back.

"Reposition head to one eighty degrees," she told the computer, "elevation level at one meter."

While it reacted to the instruction, Nyota stripped off the rest of her clothes. Spock made a delighted sound as the hydraulics adjusted all the straps which now held him, lifting his feet off the floor and tipping him onto his back. When they stopped his body was horizontal and suspended in air, legs and arms dangling.  Nyota knelt to open the storage pockets in the panel under his hips.

"Nny...?"

"Hmm?"

She pushed her hands inside and groped in search of the two silicon stirrups. If Spock had a question ready, she almost certainly caused him to forget it. Through the panel's fabric, her moving hands massaged his ass.

The stirrups and knee rests needed adjustment; their default positions were meant for someone taller. The _katra_ of T'Shin was quick to remind her.

_-For someone who never used them-_

Nyota wasn't so sure.

_-Are you certain?  It seems unrealistic.  If she was his bondmate, they must have had-_

_-Not until he lost the ability to choose. This is something I will explain, when the time comes.-_

_-I know a little about pon farr-_

_-A little-_  

 _"_ Nny...?”  

“Hey.”

She stood up, bent over him and initiated another meld.  Spock had thoughts like soup – little pieces of this or that, now and then two related things coming together but just as soon driven apart in a swirling broth of euphoria.  On top of all that, she saw how he saw her in this altered state.  It streaked her hair with shades of red and violet, lifted the strands with an imaginary breeze.  Her eyes, lips and breasts had grown beyond their correct proportions, and looked wet.  

Spock reached up, caught her nipple between his thumb and index finger.  She saw how he saw drops of liquid, the same colour as her skin, fall on his wrist and drizzle down his arm.  His mouth opened.  

“ _Shok_ _,"_ he said.  

She consulted the knowledge of the _katra_ , her knowledge.  The swing could be moved; it was suspended from a network of tracks in the ceiling.  Spock could travel from the shower enclosure to his own bed without needing to walk. 

“Okay,” she said, pulling back from his mind, “you get your wish.”  

Nyota put her left foot in the nearest stirrup grip, to test how it took her weight and how she would keep her balance.  Then she grabbed both straps on the upper body sling and lifted herself over him to place her right foot in the grip on the other side.  The force of that movement set the swing gently rocking. 

What did she look like to him now?  Spock had not relaxed the hand which had previously touched her breast. It was extended as far as it could reach, but the fingertips were not rewarded with anything. 

"Computer," she said, "reposition head to ... one hundred and ten degrees."

The sling straps retracted into the ceiling while the swing panel grew slack. Nyota watched, as Spock was lifted, and gauged where her body and his mouth would meet. She leaned into him, then took a bit of that distance back again, to get it just right.  Spock stuck out his tongue and licked her nipple as the last centimetres closed between them.  Nyota wrapped her arms around his head and kissed his hair while he fed on the elixir he believed she provided.


	18. Sex in the Abstract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili and Vulcan terms used in this chapter:
> 
> uke - (Swahili) - vagina  
> kotic - (Vulcan) - vulva  
> matiti - (Swahili) - breasts  
> matako - (Swahili) - buttocks  
> shahawa - (Swahili) - semen  
> lok - (Vulcan) - penis

_Shok_  was good to both of them.   Spock dreamed a whirlpool of colours as he kissed, and Nyota felt them stream inside her.  He was being fed and feeding – a flow moving in two directions through the same glands.  The skin of the breast he suckled grew hotter and tighter.  Nyota shook her head at the crazy sensation – such a sure sense that her flesh was swelling to the point it might tear apart, and yet she had no desire to move his mouth and give herself relief.  Will power had to make that choice.

Her _uke_ felt swollen too.  Though Nyota remained cold sober she only needed to shut her eyes and that allowed his illusions to stand in for her reality.  Spock sucked the other nipple until she was heavy on top, wet and tight below.  She grunted with the effort it took to push herself away from his mouth, and croak instructions. 

“Computer,” she said, “shorter stirrups.” 

Slowly she rose, and blindly sought out new handholds along the sling straps.  Certain that she now possessed a pair of ponderous _matiti_ , she let their imaginary weight tip her forward.  Spock’s mouth pressed into her belly and he licked a line down her body, singing out as soon as he could taste _kotik_. He worked his head deeper between her legs and put his tongue inside her.

Together they ascended to his next level of joy.  Colours vibrated, pulsed, burst.  Nyota came in blasts of climax she could feel through her breasts – she had visions of colours that shot out in two streams and left rainbow spatter on the large stone tiles along the floor and the opposite wall of the enclosure.

The second time _shok_ made it seem that she flooded Spock’s face with her own moisture and he gave her a shivery comedown while lapping up every vibrant drop.  Where her nipples rubbed against the sling straps they leaked in multicoloured patterns.

Somehow the computer understood what she said next, or the katra of T’Shin assisted, because the stirrups extended to their original length.  Spock’s thoughts welcomed the return of her breasts; in their shared state of distorted arousal her nipples had grown so large he could not fit one into his mouth, but she could bury his head between iridescent pillows of cleavage.

Meanwhile, against her  _matako_ Nyota felt an erection slick with _shahawa_.  For a while she simply enjoyed its unpredictable friction, as the swing moved it away and back again, or shunted side to side so it wagged and  painted her skin with cool dampness.   When she decided it was time to wriggle on top, the mound of his _lok_ became impossibly thick, pushing apart her inner thighs like she was suddenly straddling a tree trunk.  Spock crowed her name, a long ‘Ny-yi-yi-yi' as she dragged herself over the length of him.  And then she arched her back to give him standing room, plugged their bodies together.

The swing creaked and groaned.  With each thrust Nyota wondered if they were getting too carried away, if they would hit one of the walls.  But she did not open her eyes.  Everything was colours now; they were sex in the abstract – two chromatic waves colliding.   It felt as though he had filled her up as far as her bottom ribs; her breasts crashed together.  Spock was shouting or thinking of shouting.  Her mother’s soul translated the words because they came from memories passed down to him, generations old and generations unspoken because they described the utter and deliberate abandon of control, and neither he nor Nyota had ever been taught them.

When he came her mouth opened.  She had nothing to say – it was an unconscious reaction, as if his colours would cut right through her and blow off her head in their eruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers, I apologise for the late arrival of another chapter. Please don’t worry – work is eating into a lot of my spare time but this is due to a staff shortage which I have fixed. Now it is just a matter of getting new employees trained and experienced enough so they can help with more complex tasks. I have a week’s vacation booked which begins six days from now. I plan to indulge us both in extra Spuhura!


	19. Safe Send

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my version of the Kelvin timeline, Amanda Grayson was already married to a human named Martin Atkinson when she first met Sarek of Vulcan. In the 2009 AOS film, Spock’s classmates call his mother ‘that human whore’. I decided to invent circumstances to explain why they chose that insult. I left clues in these earlier stories: 
> 
> “A Tale of Two Tyrants” - Chapter 12 (skip to the last section) 
> 
> “Love the Unintending Rebel” - Chapters 6, 10 and 17

“Safe send” -- a silly term. In her defence, Amanda coined the phrase while she was teaching secondary level Terran social history, the twenty-first century module. It used to amuse and horrify her students to learn that humans once relied upon a ridiculous form of contraception and protection against sexually transmitted diseases: a thin sheath of silicon which could not be fitted until the couple were in a highly aroused state, when they were least likely to be careful.

“ _Safe sex_ ”, one of the required vocabulary terms for the exam, became a classroom in-joke. It evolved new meaning, came to be understood as anything handled or presented in a way that was clumsy or badly thought out.

“Mrs. Atkinson, the statistics tables in Chapter Twelve were a bit _safe sex_.”

And once, through an open window, she overheard a comment not meant for her ears.

“Look, I think Mrs. Atkinson is an excellent teacher. But she should be careful – we all saw what she was like the last time the Vulcan Ambassador visited. Talk about _safe sex_ …,”

The speaker had no idea how much irony they had communicated. There had been unsafe sex – unbridled, seemingly uncontrollable urges pulled at her and Sarek, and though they wanted to do the right things in the right order they failed. No, _she_ failed. She was deceiving two men – Sarek believed she was divorced; Martin still had no idea she wanted a divorce. And she was pregnant.

Eventually a mind meld gave Sarek the truth, and he surprised her by accepting her maelstrom of emotions and being pleased rather than angry. It demonstrated the inevitability of their bond. And once they were bonded, he taught her a psionic technique, a way to notify him whenever she was in need of his support, without flooding their link with feelings. If needed he could soothe from a distance, or get to her as soon as possible.

Amanda decided to call that “safe send”.

She felt Sarek approaching now. He was using the concealed passageway between his study and hers. She wiped her face with her sash and stood up.

- _Aduna_ -

Worry. Sensing her tears always worried him; he never quite trusted his own understanding, that Terrans sometimes wept for reasons other than sadness. He was therefore more tactile when he entered the room, immediately embraced her.

Once she was in his possession, he could be calmer and take a more objective look at her thoughts. But not for long – as soon as he saw what she had witnessed in Spock’s apartments he was so unsettled she had to take over as comforter.

- _Adun_ , _Vulcans would be better off if they gave up this taboo about_ _shok_ -

- _This ‘taboo’ is a conditioned response which dates back generations. It is not a simple matter of ‘giving up’ the way one might stop wearing a garment they have outgrown-_

_-I know how much you enjoyed it-_

_-Amanda, I had no control-_

_-And you were so happy. Right now Spock is happy-_

In her mind she replayed the sound of Spock’s laughter and it moved her to fresh tears.  Sarek could not protest and be a good husband at the same time; he rubbed her back the way she was hoping he would do and tried to consider how his response might be modified.

His reaction was long in coming.

_-I am pleased to learn that our son has found a suitable partner-_

_-How pleased?-_

Amanda thought about his hand on her back moving lower, and it did so.

- _I do not understand the question_ -

Yet down between Sarek’s legs Amanda could feel him managing physiology -- the ring of heat building around the base of his _lok_. There was no attempt to hide that from her.

- _I remember how you seduced me the night after Spock’s first bonding_ -

More heat. And Sarek poised on the dividing line between exercising further control or surrendering.

- _I think you get pleasure from knowing he will have the same joy.  I think the real reason Vulcans don’t talk about shok is because the subject is too powerful, too much of a turn on_ -

Sarek’s pupils dilated. He corrected them, which made her smile.

- _Shall I keep going?_ -

He replied. - _Have I given you reason to believe you should desist?_ -

- _You know, I did a little subspace network research. Did you know that Orions have developed a patch which temporarily changes the wearer’s skin chemistry? Harmless to most humanoids, and I get the impression it alters the scent of pheremonal secretions. Of course, what it might also do is facilitate shok reactions in Vulcan males, if their bondmate were to procure some of these_ -

Sarek dropped his hand down to her ass and squeezed.

- _I'll consider that your agreement to make a purchase-_

_-Amanda-_

_-Yes, Adun?-_

_-I acknowledge your superior understanding of Vulcan psychology-_

_-Yours in particular-_

_-Mine in particular-_

_-And I acknowledge your superior understanding of mine. You always seem to know the best way to comfort me-_

Sarek ceased all attempts to hold back his erection. Amanda felt its pressure through her robes and murmured gratefully.

- _Also …,-_

 _-Amanda?-_ Along with her name, a hint of erotically motivated exasperation.

 _-Also I should apologise. As I recall, you dispatched me to our son’s apartments to find out why he had not responded to the announcement made by our household computer_ -

One of his hands found it necessary to move again, dragging up along her hip and making a mid-air crossing to grasp the softest part of her right arm, near the elbow. Then his fingers tickled their way up, over her wrist.

\- _I ought to have reported back directly.  For that you must forgive my humanity.  But g_ _iven what I observed, I do not imagine we will see Spock until much later. When he has regained the ability to speak._ -

Amanda caught the wandering hand, crushed the knuckles in the tightest grip she could manage. Sarek exhaled in a huff, swallowed, and as she lifted her catch and put the meat of his palm against her lips she made one more request, which he would have been reluctant to oblige if his logic was less than completely compromised. He smiled.

Between tastes of his fingertips, she told him.

- _Spock laughs exactly the way you did, when we made him. How can that be?_ -


	20. The Arrival of Zawadi DNA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Aminifu Uhura (maiden name Zawadi) is Nyota's maternal grandmother ("The Architecture of Emotion", Chapter 3, "The Dean's Dinner") and a former professor of psychology at Starfleet Academy in Dar-es-Salaam ("Love the Unintending Rebel, Chapter 4, "Voices of Those Lost"). She was the second generation of test subjects in the Vulcan project to develop human psi ability, led by the xenolinguist T’Shin of clan Tetov’yth, who also became Nyota's guardian after her parents were killed in the attack on the USS Kelvin.  
> I brought Aminifu (Ami) into this story because I liked the unreserved, determined character who came to life as I wrote "Love the Unintending Rebel". I imagined Nyota took after her, such that this grandmother would know better than to helicopter over her granddaughter, but at the same time would keep in touch when it mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili terms used in this chapter 
> 
> Binti – Auntie  
> kwanini ana wasiwasi – Why is he worried?

“Doctor Uhura …,”

Finnos, the attendant, was charming in his own way. He checked twice enroute to be sure she was ‘adequately hydrated’, and offered her access to the shuttle replicator. Refreshment was not served to Vulcan passengers (twenty of twenty-three on board) taking this direct flight from Dar-es-Salaam to Shi’Kahr. Ami presumed the two Starfleet science officers were frequent fliers; they knew the attendant by name.

Finnos bent at the knees, so she never needed to lift her head to look at him.

“ ... will there be someone to meet you at the shuttleport?”

Almost certainly he would know her age; the spaceline required it on ticket applications.  Maybe the attendant had never met a ninety-seven-year-old Terran. Ami wondered whether all this attention was simply his way of working out what that number meant.

“Yes,” she replied, “my nephew.”

“But will there be someone Vulcan?”

“Yes,” she replied again, “my nephew.”

Finnos straightened up and looked suitably thoughtful for the rest of the journey. When they landed, he offered to accompany her as far as the Arrivals floor. And she accepted. She did not need his help, refused firmly to let him carry her case. She did it because this was the best way to teach him about the state of her body and mind. He knew, when Tonev/Karimu stepped forward to greet his _Binti Ami_ , that she had not been a confused old woman talking nonsense.

Her nephew was harder to convince. In the privacy of his hovercar, he tried again to dissuade her.

“ _Binti_ ,” Tonev said, “Neither the Ambassador or his bondmate have responded to my messages.”

“No, but that does not mean the house is empty. A house like that would _never_ be empty.”

“Nyota may not be able to see you when you arrive.”

“Karimu, you keep saying this as though it would bother me. I can wait.”

He activated the hovercar drives and let the vehicle rise. Ami listened to the tick-tick sound of the control panel as he registered their flight path with the city’s traffic control. There was something Tonev did not want to tell her. Interrogation had not broken him – over subspace transmission she had imagined and described every scenario she could and demanded to know: is it this?

All he would insist was that she did not need to worry. Why, then …,

 _Kwanini ana wasiwasi_?

Ami decided what to do. She told her nephew while they were in flight, and Tonev seemed to decide on cooperation as his form of communication. They landed on the roof of the house, which set off the motion sensors. He allowed her to open the hatch and be the first person to emerge and speak with the Vulcan woman who came out to meet them.

And everything was fine. They were led inside; the housekeeper enquired whether Ami would prefer to take the turbolift to the ground floor and was told, “Absolutely not”. Naturally, in the Ambassador’s home there was a reception room ready at all times for visitors. Ami sucked in a breath when she entered – it was a splendid expanse of warm wood walls and floor, interrupted by clusters of chairs and, of all things, bottle palms grown in pots.

The housekeeper served tea and small dishes of what tasted like sun-dried tomatoes filled with a peppery paste. It was perfect. In a room like that, it was a pleasure to wait.

A pleasure … even after the food was gone and the tea cold. Even after the housekeeper brought a fresh pot and that grew cold. Ami was determined. She was not offered any explanation and she would not ask for one.

Tonev excused himself to return to the roof -- apparently the hovercar needed some sort of adjustments.  Ami felt freer in her thoughts once she was alone.  She considered her memory of Nyota from five years ago: a young woman with a face that looked older, wearing mismatched clothes she had to borrow from the Mombasa syndicate who organised her escape.  She was fretful and fearful of unidentified sounds or people.  Ami had to feed her like a baby, chatter and touch to keep her attention on the food.

But her grandmother believed that, among other things, Nyota inherited a resilient and sinewy personality from Zawadi DNA. Within three weeks she was sleeping and eating well. Within five she was speaking with Levina about how she might make use of the compensation funds provided for her education by the Vulcan High Council.

The Vulcan High Council … hmm …

Before Ami could carry on with that new train of thought, the reception room entrance opened and the Ambassador stepped inside.

Draped around his neck and shoulders was the Shuka blanket presented to him by Starfleet Africa back in 2219. The colours were as vibrant as the day they gave the gift – Ami remembered how many bolts of fabric Levina reviewed and rejected before she settled on black and aubergine ground with white and yellow plaid. That did not stop her from fussing – would it still be too garish for Vulcan taste? Yet it blended perfectly with his long tunic, as if he had the garment made to match afterwards.

Ami stood out of her chair, hid her hands behind her back. Sarek would recall their last meeting; it would be a test of his good manners whether or not he chose to mention it.

“Doctor Uhura.”

He bowed to her, gestured at the seat she had vacated.

“Please be comfortable. Formality is protocol for strangers, but you are family.”

She smiled, sat, and put her hands in her lap.

“Very well. Then you should call me Aminifu.”

Sarek chose a seat for himself, regarded her for a moment, and then replied.

“Aminifu … my wife is attempting to make contact with our son and your granddaughter. It may not be possible to reach them immediately. Is there anything I may do for you in the meantime?”

“The headline in the Shi’kahr bulletin -- I booked a shuttle pass as soon as I read it.”

“You take an interest in Vulcan current affairs?”

“I take an interest in T’Shin,” Ami stressed.

At that moment Tonev/Karimu returned to the reception room, as though he'd overheard their conversation from the roof and knew this was the best time to appear.

“Ever since she went missing I have monitored a collection of data sources for any mention of her. T'Shin was my teacher as much as she was Nyota’s.”

Sarek moved his eyes to acknowledge her nephew, before he quickly returned his attention to her.

Ami went on. “The bulletin mentioned the katra, that Nyota has this. What does that mean? Is it possible to communicate with T’Shin?”

“It is,” Sarek replied matter-of-factly. No doubt this was an ordinary matter to him, so ordinary he moved his eyes again, staring at the empty chair next to hers as if distracted by his own thoughts. He remained that way for over a minute. For once, Ami did not feel happy about waiting. She turned to Karimu, but he held up a hand in warning.


	21. Just an Overflow Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan phrases used in this chapter:
> 
> Shalfa, vesht heh fa-wak - Amanda Grayson's passphrase, which translates "Selves Past and Future"
> 
> Oh, and I also invented a shade of red called "rothko" after the American abstract painter. Mark Rothko used many different reds in his pictures; readers are free to imagine Nyota wearing whichever one they like best.

Nyota was tempted to stay where she was, sitting on the edge of Spock's bed, just watching him sleep. Through the windows, from this vantage point, she could see some of the work his mother had done to reclaim land from the desert and transform it into cultivated, productive space.

How long did that take? Nyota also wondered if Amanda Grayson found it easy, adjusting to Vulcan time measured in different increments, owing nothing to a moon, and where the timepieces were Vulcans themselves, acting on the promptings of their faultless internal clocks. Of course, Nyota had reconfigured her PADD display. But she hardly wanted to take that with her everywhere. Time was a social construct on Earth, but here more so, because she had to depend on close contact with others to know it.

Though not upon Spock, not right now. He was out of sync – no – disconnected, floating in his timeless, dreamy place and would probably miss the rest of the day. Nyota supposed she ought to mind, but did not.

The knock on their bedroom door was so soft, not wishing to impose itself on their peace.

Nyota thought, _she knows how this feels_.

“Come in, Amanda.”

Amanda opened the door but remained unseen, a voice from the corridor.

“We have had a surprise, Nyota. A visit from your grandmother.”

“ _Bibi_?”

Too many reactions – Nyota started to gasp, swallow and burst out laughing, but nobody’s throat could manage all three of those at once. She ended up making no noise.

“We have not told her where you are yet … just in case. But she wants to see you, so perhaps we could discuss when --,”

“Now,” Nyota sputtered, as soon as her throat could work again. She got up, jogged across the room, put her head out the door. “I’ll go now.”

Amanda looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

As she asked, her eyes were not meeting Nyota’s but looking past her shoulder.

“Sure,” Nyota said it with a broad smile. “And you _can_ come inside, honestly.”

The expression on Amanda's face wavered between resistance with eyes cast down for shame because her interest had been so blatant, followed by two quick, furtive glances at Nyota.

“If ... he's ...,”

Nyota made a beckoning gesture while she retreated, which was finally persuasive.  Amanda stepped into the room – just – and beamed instantly at the sight of her son, a mound of warm bed covers and half his face hidden by the dip of his pillow.

“Lovely,” she said softly.

Then, as if satisfied, her tone became more business-like. “We can't have you in that,” she pointed at the quartet uniform Nyota had retrieved from Spock's reception room to dress herself.

“Not appropriate?” Nyota asked.

“Not when your grandmother has come all this way. Follow me.”

It was the third time Nyota had been taken on a mystery journey through the labyrinth of corridors and stairways in that house. She recognised points along the way, up until she knew they were getting close to the transporter room. Then Amanda swerved right and opened a set of three secure entrances which responded to analyses of her palmprint, irises and voice. The passageway beyond was a left curving arc which illuminated as they moved through it and darkened as they passed.

Nyota counted the doorways. Amanda stopped at the seventh and opened it with a spoken passphrase.

“ _Shalfa, vesht heh fa-wak_.”

Then she turned and said with a wink, “Just an overflow closet.”

Nyota gave her opinion after they walked inside.

“Whoa. I think Spock should ask for a bigger bedroom.”

Amanda burst out laughing.

“Welcome to the one human proclivity my husband is … more than prepared to indulge.”

Instead of doorways, Nyota started to count the number of clothes rails, mirrors and wooden chests. Amanda tipped her head back and took deep, audible breaths.

“Nothing like the smell of red cedar," she said.

Nyota logged a mental note about the sweet scent as she let out a sigh.

“You want me to pick something from all this?”

“No, no,” Amanda said, taking her arm. “I know just the thing.”

Just the thing was hanging on rail seven, starboard side wall, and like most Vulcan garments it came in several pieces which Amanda handed over one at a time.

She said, “This comes closest, I think, to the shade of red assigned to clan Tetov’yth.”

The katra of T’Shin was silent on the matter, even when asked. Nyota did not press for an answer; she received a pair of opaque stockings as well as top-stitched, floor length coulottes and a fitted jacket with honeycomb pleated sleeves and swan neck collar, all in a deep dyed rothko. She listened to the sound of several cedar chests creak open and shut while she changed.

“Keep it simple,” she heard Amanda mutter to herself. Shortly after that a pair of grey velvet ankle boots appeared on the floor beside her discarded clothes.

Nyota announced when she had finished and they studied the reflection in the closest mirror and made noises of approval.

“Ponytail,” Amanda pointed at the black elastic holding Nyota’s hair and disappeared again. She returned with a textured metal clip that gleamed in the lights.

***

When Cadet Uhura was brought to the reception room, Sarek was reminded of the impact she had on Spock when she made her entrance at the Dean’s Dinner. Nyota’s grandmother, a confident communicator, stopped talking in the middle of a question. Sarek surmised what she likely wanted to know, and was grateful for the interruption because he did not yet know the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, my week's holiday comes to an end on Monday. Back to the craziness of work, and fewer words published per week. Good news is that I have an outline plan for the rest of Rumarie -- and I estimate another seven chapters (5000-7000 words) left until the end.  
> Thank you everyone for the hits, kudos, comments. Even though I've been doing this fanfic thing for three years now, I still look at these stats and I'm amazed that something I started as a spur of the moment, 'what the heck' decision gives so many people enjoyment.


	22. As If None of This Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank whatever Muse provides my inspiration and gifted me with a creative spurt that wrote this extra chapter.

“Computer, locate Cadet Nyota Uhura.”

By the time Spock was awake, showered and dressed, planetary rotation had progressed such that only refracted starlight was visible when he looked out through his bedroom windows. A deep red disc seemed to rest on the darkening horizon with an aura of higher wavelength green light hovering over that.

The computer responded to his enquiry.

“ _Nyota is currently at ground level, in private room one_.”

His mother's study.  Word association initiated a number of unrelated visual memories in his mind, and one of these came as a profound shock.  Spock closed his eyes.  A pointless defence against his own mind -- it left him without the visual distraction of the setting star, therefore subject to a much clearer recollection of how, not long ago, he had needed the assistance of two women in order to walk.

Up until that moment, his intention had been to venture out of his apartments and make a courtesy appearance in the public section of the house.  Instead, Spock decided  to return to his reception room.  And he invited all the memories from earlier that day to present themselves, however mortifying, as he retraced those steps. They obliged. Travelling in the lift they seemed almost to make themselves materialise; he had an uncomfortable ride standing next to a version of himself who had Nyota pressed into a corner with her undershirt hem up at her chin.

In the reception room, no evidence remained of their ‘music lesson’.  Spock asked the computer to close the display wall. The mechanical noise was sufficient to mask the memory of all the sounds they made on the rattan sofa, but also left him unaware that anyone was approaching from behind. He knew he was not alone when Nyota’s arms circled him around the waist and squeezed.

“Hey,” she said, “you will not believe how much has happened since you fell asleep.”

He told her he was prepared to take that risk. It was not certain, but sufficiently probable, that whatever she had to say would take his mind off his embarrassment.

“Stonn and T’Pring were right.  This morning’s news bulletin is creating quite a reaction.  On more than one planet.”

“Elaborate.”

“Well, turns out my grandmother read it.  And what she knows goes out to both sides of my family -- two uncles, two aunties, one great aunt and eighteen cousins.  Brother Tonev forwarded his copy to Chibuzo.  She says she only mentioned the story to her brother, but you wait -- that will soon spread.  And your father has been busy handling messages from the High Council and your uncle Karn. He says there is talk about whether a convocation should be held between clans Surak and Tetov’yth.”

“To what end?”

“To request the release and reexamination of all the data T’Shin gathered during her human psi experiments.”

“Interesting," Spock said.  "And yet I am puzzled.  Before they discussed any decisions based on the bulletin, did no one enquire who _wrote_ it?”

“Everyone,” Nyota replied, “it was the first thing my grandmother asked when I met her.”

Spock pulled himself away so he could turn to face her.

“Your grandmother is here?”

Nyota pressed the palms of her hands together. “Sorry, I should have started with that. There has been so much to think about – before I found you, I was helping your mother with a table plan and catering.”

“Table plan?”

“Your parents are throwing us a party tomorrow night. They want as many human guests as Tonev/Karimu and my grandmother can persuade onto shuttle flights.”

Spock needed additional time to process the words ‘party’ and ‘parents’ occurring within the same sentence.

“This is …,” he searched for the best word, “unprecedented.”

Nyota exhaled forcefully.  “It is.  But your father thinks it might delay any … tensions.”

“I do not understand.”

Nyota took another deep breath and clasped the sleeves of his robe at the elbows.

“T’Shin wrote the bulletin.”

“That is not possible.”

“Not in the way you are thinking.  Before she died, she told T’Pau what she wanted to publish. T’Pau made it conditional on the result of my contest with Lelar.  No one else was told about this arrangement.  The High Council called an emergency session this morning to discuss the situation – but they did _not_ invite Sarek.”

The politics of Vulcan were mathematical.  Spock could calculate the interests of the various clans and how they might align themselves behind the Council members based on the number of bonded connections between families and previous voting patterns.

Nyota continued. “There were questions asked about how far back my _kal-I-fee_ was planned, whether I was groomed for it,” she paused to laugh. “And it was suggested that T’Pau has cultivated an unbalanced sympathy for destabilising elements within Vulcan society, if you can believe that.”

He could, quite easily.

“Your father believes it is a storm that will pass.  But he does not want it to spoil our time together.  If a large number of Terran guests suddenly arrive in Shi-Kahr the Vulcan government will hold back.  They will not risk having their internal conflicts played out in front of foreign visitors.”

Spock nodded. The gesture did not mean he fully grasped everything he had been told. His father planning a party, inviting human guests – as a diplomatic tactic it had merits yet seemed so out of character.   _He does not want it to spoil our time together._   What person was this?  It was tempting to think that Nyota had met a alternative version of the same individual, someone she credited with sympathies alien to his father’s unassailable reputation for conforming to the Vulcan way.

Nyota let go of his sleeves. She placed the palms of her hands against his chest and beat a gentle rhythm against his jacket. That of itself changed the speed of his heartbeat.

“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?” she asked.

Forgotten embarrassment was remembered again. “I _am_ now capable of walking to the kitchen myself, Nyota.”

“I know …,”

She changed the way she played him, using fingertips and the heels of her hands to create changes of intensity – _softsoftsoftsoftHARD, softsoftsoftsoftHARD --_

“But the consensus,” she said, conspicuously failing to identify the consenting parties, “is that you and I will need to be very public tomorrow, to greet all our guests. and so, for tonight, we should be very _private_.  We only have two more days before midterm break is over.  When we get back to Earth we have to act as if none of this happened.”


	23. One Part of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Skladasu Kevar is a name I have invented for the Vulcan schoolboy in the 2009 film who called Amanda, “the human whore". The other events Spock remembers are mentioned in Part 1 of this series, “Matchmaking" – see chapters 4 and 18. 
> 
> Koon-ut-la - the Vulcan bonding, usually performed when the couple are both children.
> 
> Kolinahr - A Vulcan ritual to purge all emotion, mentioned in the 2009 film. See https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Kolinahr for more detail.

Spock let Nyota's hands continue to beat a tattoo against his chest, and considered her words. 

The emotional magnitude of the events which brought them together exerted enough power to shift perceptions, and created a fault line in reality that could obscure the past.  It had been easy to forget that they were recent visitors to Vulcan.  They did not reside there.

Where they did live, they dressed in uniform.  Uniform would soon redefine them – one Command rank, Computer Science professor and one Cadet, Communications track – two people who should not be standing this close.  He would appraise Captain Pike of the situation as soon as possible.  But it would be naive to presume that Pike could negotiate complete freedom from the Academy’s restrictions.

What Nyota wore now was both culturally sympathetic and aesthetically pleasing.  There was wisdom in the consensus reached by his family and hers; he might regret not taking what could be taken now.

He circled her waist with his arms.

“The kitchen is not the only place where food is available,” he said.

“I see,” she replied, “another mystery journey. Will we need the transporter again?”

“Not on this occasion.”

The back of Nyota’s jacket had a series of raised, vertical seams.  His right hand determined this by tracing over the one it first touched, travelling up as far as her collar before crossing to the next one and moving all the way back down.  And then it seemed important to continue with another seam, to appreciate the tailoring workmanship as fully as possible.

While he did this, Nyota stilled her hands, leaned in closer and laid her head on his shoulder.  Her lips came to rest against his throat.

“We don’t appear to be moving,” she whispered, her words bestowing a gift of warm breath and soft, accidental kisses.

“Speed is not essential,” he said, and then added, “I detect a range of favourable emotional responses from you.  May I take it these constitute reactions to your stay in Shi'Kahr?”

“They do.”

“Everything?  Is there any aspect of this visit which has not been ... ideal?”

He felt her smile.

“I detect a man with a range of _uncomfortable_ responses to his biology,” she said.

He let himself sigh, since she knew the emotions already.

“In front of my _mother_ \--,”

“Oh Spock,” Nyota slipped one hand between the collar of his robe and his jaw, stroked the masseter muscle on the left side until, subjected to the repeated sensation of her reassurance, he unclenched it.

Then it was her turn to sigh.  He felt a familiar kind of cognitive activity; she was searching for words.

“Maybe I am seeing what I want to see.  I did not grow up with your parents – I didn’t grow up with mine.  But the only impression I get from the time I spend with Sarek and Amanda is that they are _pleased_.  This is what they wanted for you and it happened and they are pleased.”

Her hand moved down and forward, applied pressure to the pulse point behind his ear.  The touch helped, somewhat.  After fourteen seconds of this ministration she added, “That is not the only thing bothering you.”

She was smiling again.  Grinning, to be precise, as she felt his reaction.  Her teeth grazed his throat lightly.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Nyota, I am sure. Every Vulcan considers it paramount to maintain emotional control.”

“Yes, I am getting that …,” she moved her hand behind his neck, grabbed and compressed the skin over his lower trapezius.  “But also something else.  It’s difficult to read because it comes and goes so quickly like -– there!”

Her finger dug deep into the muscle and seemed to pin the feeling in place.  Blood rushed to Spock’s face.

“Nyota --,”

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay.  But do you see it?  Yes, it bothers you to lose control.  What bothers you more is how much you want that.”

She grabbed his neck harder, resisting his impulse to pull away.

“Just show me, _ashayam_.  Do what you taught that day I ran out of your Non-Terran Cultures lesson.  Show me the architecture of that emotion.”

She kissed him intentionally.  Then she lifted her head so they were face to face, withdrew the hand that held him and reassigned the fingers to his meld points.  They performed the task together.

Most of the memories which formed the structure of this particular feeling he had never shared.  They emerged with difficulty, halting wherever the incident to be remembered included a slight or taunt.  Nyota saw the boy who feared that his eyes were betraying the sadness that weighed on him, the same boy who charged at Skladasu Kevar, five years his senior, threw him into the learning bowl and beat him enough to crack his jaw and puncture an eardrum.  Nyota felt the anticlimax of his _koon-ut-la_ with T'Pring.  She sat in the andrologist's consultation room.

Spock did not expect to experience his own past any differently.  To have the company of another mind introduced an alternative viewpoint.  He could choose to be with Nyota, looking on, not detached but significantly removed.  And no longer alone.

The secret ambition of his younger self, to achieve _kolinahr_ and change the opinion of every Vulcan who had doubted or tormented him, appeared very different from that vantage point.  He saw, for the first time, that those efforts hurt him.  He had not been defeating his enemies, but joining forces with them.  And Hama, the dream woman made from desert sand who undermined his control repeatedly, had not been an impediment but an ally.

In his thoughts, he admitted the truth. “ _I taught myself to hate my own desires._ ”

The katra of T’Shin answered him.

- _It is regrettable that, while attempting to manage emotions, Vulcans often become their own adversaries.  Our inner battles would certainly render us irrational, except that we are held back from the worst by the matrix of psi bonds between family members-_

And Nyota added, “ _Shok seems logical to me.  It takes away the battle and frees you to feel, but without aggression_.”

“ _Aggression_ ,” Spock observed wryly, “ _would require greater mental and physical agility_.”

Nyota’s amusement travelled in ripples across the meld.

“ _There is one part of you which seems to remain agile, no matter what_.”

By merely stating the fact, she succeeded in raising his heart rate again, supplying blood to that _one_ part of him. The kiss he received after that initiated multiple responses: a wave of neuro-transmitted chemicals subjecting him to sensations of aching and tingling, further expansion between his legs and a conviction that the gap of time between this and his last kiss had been years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really sorry that this chapter was not ready for everyone last weekend. The situation at work remains ... interesting. Improving, but still interesting.
> 
> If it will help, I am going to leave posts on my Tumblr blog about how I am progressing with a new chapter. That won't be as good as having a new chapter, of course, but at least you would know the situation and would not be waiting and wondering, waiting and wondering ...
> 
> Check out https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vitaelampada if you'd like the latest news.


	24. Ne-Shal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter:
> 
> Ne-shal – basement  
> Pir mah – a dish mentioned at https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/, from the 1978 "Star Trek Cooking Manual" by Mary Ann Piccard. It is supposed to taste like strawberry toast.  
> Trillpa – a vulcan sword

“ _Ne-shal_.”  Spock gave that instruction to the household computer when he stepped inside the lift.

They were going down?

Nyota decided not to comment.  It would hardly be a surprise if the Ambassadorial residence, imposing in its public dimensions and concealing a warren of private passages, also had a level below ground.

Spock carried her.  This was his offer, a reciprocal gesture in recognition of her support when his physical coordination had been ... somewhat compromised.  Nyota accepted with relish.  She clasped her arms snugly round his neck and pressed her cheek against his.  Psi points met.  When she felt him make a resolution to restrain his appetites for a time, she objected –

- _Not entirely, I hope_ -

He assured her.

- _Not entirely_ -

The _ne-shal_ level was not the top secret location she imagined.  It began with a generous expanse of empty space – a spherical area marked out in the middle of an otherwise bare floor.  Banked seating along the walls suggested it was a performance venue.  The acoustics (Spock’s footsteps echoed as they came out from the lift) did not suggest music.

“Martial arts,” he said, reading her thoughts.

They crossed the central demarcation area.  It was cushioned; Nyota felt the surface give under their weight.  Spock carried on, taking them into a channel between two sections of seats and this led through to another room, almost as large.

“Computer,” Spock said, “secure all public access.  Also, open and illuminate Clubroom Two.”

Nyota made a guess.  “This is a … lobby?”

Spock replied, “I believe that would be the closest Terran equivalent.”

Since her curiosity was streaming live to him, Spock set her down and invited her to explore.  Then he excused himself, to make preparations in the clubroom.

The first thing Nyota did was take off her borrowed velvet boots.  The floor here seemed firmer than the cushioned area in the middle of the arena, but even so it yielded like wet beach sand, leaving a shallow imprint where she stepped and needing a few seconds to recover.

She made a slow circuit of the room, walked between stacks of tables and chairs, found a cabinet with objects which might have been trophies or emblems of attainment.  T’Shin would know.  But the _katra_ of her mother had excused herself.  _Bibi_ Uhura, via Ambassador Sarek, requested her company.

A large vidscreen behind the tables activated –- probably a sensor detected Nyota’s approach.  The screen began to play a silent film of an event recorded in the arena. Seats were filled, the audience mixed in age.  There was a section made conspicuous by its ten occupants who sat together in two rows, and wore identical baggy jumpsuits.

Spock sat among them, three places from the left in the front row.  Nyota stepped closer to the vidscreen.  She tried to decide which features gave him his younger face in this footage.  The bridge of his nose, she decided, was a softer, more uniform slope.  His eyes appeared larger and where they turned down at the outer corners, it seemed more pronounced, which did make him look sad.

The camera captured the moment he stood up.  Attention among the spectators varied -- some watched Spock and others took more interest in someone or something else, out of shot.  The filmmaker maintained their viewpoint.  They zoomed in on Spock, and let him fill the frame from his waist up.  The audience became blurred heads and shoulders that served as markers to indicate when he began to walk towards the centre of the arena.

Nyota’s mouth opened and remained that way as the camera revealed Sarek (also younger, but it was more difficult to say why) waiting in the performance space, identically dressed or so she thought.  Father and son came face to face.  They saluted each other.

Combat or dance?  The filmmaker gave Nyota the ability to see both men now, but she knew little about Vulcan martial arts.  When Spock lunged at his father to begin their contest, she could distinguish only one movement, an evasive drop and roll, because Starfleet taught the same in first year Self-Defence.  To her uneducated eye, the fight seemed fluid; everything happened too quickly.  What she could perceive was the practised grace in their various manoeuvres which, taken at speed, made them beautiful.

Which contestant would win?  Nyota counted those moments when fighting paused, when one combatant was pinioned by the other or wrong-footed.  Every advantage gained by one party was taken back quickly by the other.  The deciding point came when Sarek hooked a foot behind Spock's ankle while the latter executed a jump to move away.  Spock went down hard on his back.  The Ambassador seized his advantage, drove forward and reached for his son's throat.  Spock let himself be seized, then he locked his father’s shoulder between his kneecaps, caught the attacking hand by its wrist and Nyota could see how the pressure applied trapped blood in Sarek's hand, changing the skin colour.

The Ambassador was forced onto his knees.  His free arm flailed but could not get sufficient range of movement.  It caught a section of Spock's jumpsuit, pulled ineffectively.

Nyota did not know what prompted the spectators to stand up together –- some signal must have been given that the contest was over.  Spock and Sarek released each other, stood and saluted again.  Then a third Vulcan walked into the camera's frame.  He inserted a peculiar device under the left collar flap of Spock's suit.  It clamped the fabric; when it was withdrawn Nyota saw the faint mark it left.

That was when she noticed the same marks on Sarek's collar, and how many more of these the Ambassador had.

The film ended there.  Nyota blinked, remembered where she was.  She turned from the vidscreen to see that she was still by herself in the lobby.  Now she could imagine the tables and chairs set out and the spectators mingling.  Slowly, she returned to the place Spock set her down, where her boots waited.

* * *

 

“Traditionally,” Spock explained, “combatants meet after a bout to share a pot of tea.  It is a gesture of reconciliation, to demonstrate that there was never intent to harm.”

Clubroom Two, decorated with sculpture and tapestries, did convey conviviality in a way the arena and lobby could not.  It was really a suite of rooms.  There was another cushioned fighting space, but smaller, perhaps for training or warming up.  Nyota glimpsed hygiene station fittings through an open doorway.  Directly in front of her was an oblong table with a single chair placed on each of its long sides.

“So narrow,” she remarked, pointing to the table.

Spock pulled out the nearest chair and invited her to sit.

“Opponents must be as close as they stood at the start of their contest,” he explained.

A replicator provided their teapot and cups.  Spock also asked for a plate of _pir mah_.

“But they are not face to face,” Nyota said.  “My chair is to the right of yours.”

Spock answered while he carried their dishes across and set them down.  “There is an unconfirmed story dating from the year 3740, wherein the governor of Shi’Kahr concealed a trillpa beneath his robes after losing a fight.  He used it to stab his opponent in the heart over tea.”

Their tea, when Spock filled their cups, was verdant.  Nyota could not help but wonder if the colour had significance, if this drink was some reminder of Vulcan blood that used to be shed so easily.

“I do not have a hidden weapon,” she said, as Spock sat down.

“And yet,” he replied, “figuratively speaking, I believe that something has happened to my heart.”

Nyota did not know why she blushed, or spent the next few seconds staring into her teacup.  Charmer.  She looked back to see that he had sliced the rolled _pir mah_ into thin rounds, and used a utensil shaped like small tongs to pick up his first piece.

“So that is _pir mah_ ,” try though she did, she could still hear flirtation in her voice.  “I memorised the term as vocabulary, but never saw the real thing.”

The tongs were in mid air.  Instead of feeding himself, Spock offered the piece to her.  She shook her head.

“Oh no, no …,” and then she stopped, bit her lip.

“I can replicate another plate,” he said.

She could see he was trying to read her expression.  No easy task, since it wavered between disinterest, because she was not hungry, and temptation because a more delicious idea came to mind.

“No,” she said, and shook her head again.  “You eat.  But …,”

She settled on her temptation face.  "Save me your _last_ piece.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may sound strange, but I have been much happier since I started leaving Tumblr posts about my progress. Must be all those years working in Customer Services. Customers are always happier when they don't feel in the dark, when they know exactly what is happening. I figure readers are the same.


	25. An Accurate (and Therefore Fatal) Shot to Target

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Spock recalls Starfleet Academy's sexuality database, it is because he accessed it for research, after it became clear that Nyota was as attracted to him physically as he was to her. He admits this in "The Architecture of Emotion", Chapter 15 (the best chapter, in my opinion) titled "Dance Over My Heart".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter
> 
> les-svitan - literally means to hit target. I have invented the idea that this same word also became the name of a tool that punched marks into clothing.  
> ozh’esta - the Vulcan 'kiss' where the index and middle finger are joined and extended (as first demonstrated in the TOS episode, "Journey to Babel")  
> sakal - testicles

While Spock ate, Nyota told him about the film she watched in the lobby.  She did not get very far before he interrupted to ask, “Where is this vidscreen?”

She described its location in relation to the tables and chairs, the display cabinet, the way they had entered the room.  He nodded.  His face did not lose its questioning look.  If anything, Spock seemed more confused as she carried on, and gave him details about the fight.

Nyota knew that recalling this event could not be the issue.  When she reached the point, after Spock's victory, when the mark was impressed on his jumpsuit collar, Spock named the device used to make it: a _les-svitan_.  They discussed the martial origins of the term, which also meant an accurate (and therefore fatal) shot to target.  Nyota taught him a new idiom in Standard – bullseye.

A single piece of _pir mah_ remained on his plate.  Spock set down the tongs and said, “The vidscreen has been installed since I left home.”

Stress fell on the words ‘left home’.  Now Nyota could guess what question Spock must be asking himself.

“You wonder why.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“I wondered the same,” Nyota said. “It is a public space.  Your parents made the decision to have this film run – no one may choose whether or not to see it.  It plays whenever it detects someone in range.  And it shows the Vulcan Ambassador being defeated in a contest against his half-human son.”

Spock glanced at her.  She could see realisation dawning; the crease in his forehead relaxed and took away that squint of concentration.  Then he looked away, stared at … Nyota could not be sure.

She made sure her words came out slowly, not to hit him with all of them at once.

“I just … I cannot … cannot think of a negative reason for their decision …,”

Convinced though she was, it seemed presumptuous to finish.  There was so much she did not know about him, about the Ambassador.  Years of experiences he had yet to reveal, if he cared to.

Spock, still staring at whatever he chose to stare at, said, “My father wanted me to commit to a wholly Vulcan way of life.”

Nyota nodded, and sat back in her chair.  No more theories should come from her, from a voice of ignorance.

Spock made an unnecessary gesture, grasped the handle of his teacup and turned it clockwise, perhaps three centimetres from its original position.

“Or so I had thought,” he added.

“Could there be,” she asked, “any other possibility?”

He rotated his plate now, towing it around by an edge pinched between his thumb and middle finger.  Nyota felt less certain this was a meaningless action, since it changed the position of the remaining food and put it closer to her.

“I will need to consider,” was his verdict.

Then he let go of the plate, picked up the tongs and secured the last piece of _pir mah_ between its pronged feet.

“No," Nyota said. She turned her face away from the tongs as he lifted them.

“You no longer want to taste it?” he asked.

With a sidelong look, she replied, “I want to eat from your hand.”

* * *

 

The _pir mah_ , having been manipulated already by knife and tongs, broke into pieces as Spock released it, back on his plate.  He attempted to recombine it manually, but succeeded only in creating greater fragmentation.

Nyota had leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. This proximity was the mostly likely explanation for his loss of fine motor coordination.  He contented himself with the amount of food left on his fingers, mainly the dried fruit emulsion which acted like adhesive.

The act of touching and holding prepared food was stimulating.  His erection, inspired by Nyota in the reception room, becalmed during preparations in the clubroom, was reminded of copulation again by the yielding dough made with oil that slicked his knuckles.  His _lok_ began to fatten.  He shifted in his seat to give it room for expansion, while at the same time lifted his hand with its offering of _pir mah_ resting on the tips of an extended _ozh’esta_.

When Nyota opened her mouth a sudden rush of blood made him hard in root, shaft and head.  That put his fingers slightly off course.  Most likely she read the indications – a spasm had relaxed his jaw so that his own mouth drooped open and showed his lower incisors.  He had made some involuntary noise.  She lifted her head off her hands, caught him by the wrist and pulled him closer.

First she cleaned under his fingernails using only the wet tip of her tongue.

Pleasure overrode other sensations.  Spock lost vision and regained it, lost and regained, so that her attentions appeared like a series of images captured by time lapse photography.  Tongue inserted between digits – end.  Lips picking up _pir mah_ from the soft pads of his fingers – end.  Lips engulfed one finger down to its first joint – end.

He sustained a certain equilibrium throughout – muscles in his upper legs and abdomen held themselves rigid and he believed he could withstand the excitement of feeding her a second helping.  The few seconds it took to return his hand to the plate and capture another fragment of _pir mah_ reduced the tension.

He had to take care not to dwell on _her_ reactions.

For her second taste she gently scraped the food off his fingers with her teeth; her lips touched only to collect what she had raked together.  He knew she watched him.  The same dragging sensation she made over his hands was reproduced under the skin of his _sakal_ , and he willingly sacrificed his eyesight because it seemed to be the cost of holding back climax.  But she would pause between each contact, long enough to bring her face back in visual, smiling at him.

Neither she nor he were prepared for the increased potency of small gestures.  When Nyota licked her lips, Spock felt pressure build behind the bulb of his _lok_ , an insistence.

“How are you?” she asked.

He had been vocalising from the start of hand-feeding.  But words, the whole business of language was now difficult to initiate.  He felt Nyota adjust her hold on his wrist.

"May I assume you are wearing protective undergarments?”

“I am.”

He expected there would be a rough edge in his voice.  But not that rough.

“Okay.  How much more can you manage?”

Twenty-six seconds she waited, so patiently, while he regathered lost perceptions.  His chair, it seemed, had shifted away, so that there was barely any seat close enough to support him.  Adjustment took more time.  Every movement created friction, and friction was dangerous.

“One,” he said, when he was resettled.  “Once more.”

She let go of his wrist.  It was remarkable how weak that arm had become, how much determination and focus was needed to move it, lower it back to his plate.  Trembling fingers caught some, but not all of the remaining _pir mah_.  That was the best he could do.

Nyota came to his rescue, recaptured the feeble wrist and moved it carefully into position for the final feeding.  It allowed him to watch her mouth instead.  Her lips distended, pursed together.  By themselves they made the pressure resume inside him; he sensed his other hand grip the edge of the table.

According to Starfleet Academy’s sexuality database, human lips were often more sensitive than fingertips.  Nyota seemed to test her own reactivity.  She made the barest contact she could -- his skin was confused between the kiss and the breath that blew against it.  She also held herself back, to experiment with the pleasure of almost.  Her mind betrayed her with a kind of music, a flutter of arousal that put him in mind of a single vibrating _ka’athyra_ string.

He was … putting greater pressure into his grip on the table.

When it seemed that her sexual music gained a harmonic note, Nyota abandoned restraint.  Her mouth devoured him, first and second fingers, put them deep within so they pushed against her cheek from the inside and made it bulge.  Saliva leaked from the corners of her lips.  Spock leaked also, the clear emission that came first like a final warning.  Wet in her mouth and wet in his breeches.

He wished he could see.  The greedy noises she made as she sucked and chewed -- he wanted to know if her pupils expanded the way his did, the way of predatory animals in the certainty of capture.  But he was prey, and losing the battle for control of senses.  His internal pressure spiked and something ruptured within.  He came in total darkness.


	26. An Improvisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is telling the truth in many ways. I had no idea, when I started it, exactly what Uhura and Spock would do next. This is one of those pieces of writing which leave me with an eerie feeling, in a good way. They make me almost believe that creativity comes from outside myself -- probably the reason the ancient Greeks invented Muses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Wu lahv-fam – my invention. Literally “without tongue, long”, but meaning to hum a melody 
> 
> Pen lahv-fam – my invention. Literally “without tongue, short”, meaning to hum but not continuously, like the sound humans make when, instead of saying yes, they go, “mmhmm”. 
> 
> Uzhau tvi-shal – my invention. Literally “revive room”. 
> 
> Pasu khavorta – table designed for Vulcan neuro-pressure treatments 
> 
> Kolchak – mentioned in Chapter 11 of this story. A Vulcan woodwind instrument.

While he could not see, he could still hear.

Nyota hummed.  This was the only Standard term Spock knew which described the vibration of vocal chords when lips remained closed and tongue slack.  In high Vulcan a distinction was made between melodic sound ( _wu lahv-fam_ ) and noises with a cadence like speech ( _pen lahv-fam_ ).  What he heard was some of both.

All of it came from a few meters to his right, and to varying degrees the volume was muted.

Spock produced a _pen lahv-fam_ of his own, a quiet expression of resignation. His plan had been to gradually show Nyota all the clubroom facilities and one in particular. Her humming indicated she had already moved into the _uzhau tvi-shal_ and seen for herself, which reduced the element of surprise.

A second _pen lahv-fam_ expressed consternation, as his eyesight returned and Spock realised that at some point during the blackout of orgasm he had tipped forward and pressed his face into the plate which held the _pir mah_.

He lifted his head and saw Nyota emerge from the revival room.

* * *

 

It took some searching, but Nyota found a washcloth and brought it back with her.  Spock seemed almost recovered.  He lifted his head off the table gingerly, and blinked as though the lights were too bright.  Sure enough, he had a smear of _pir mah_ pastry and filling that ran from the middle of his forehead to the end of his nose.

Somehow she doubted he knew this yet.  The best description of his expression was bewildered.

“Hey …,”

She placed one hand round the back of his head to hold him still, and cleaned his face with the other.  He saw the food stains transfer to the washcloth.

“The response to hand stimulation,” he admitted, “has its own … particular intensity.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, and bent over to kiss the now clean skin between his eyebrows.  Of course, he was reading everything he could get from her contact.

“But it does not satisfy you.”

“I wouldn’t say it was entirely unsatisfying,” she tried to defend the quality of the feeling.  It had achieved something; she felt wet and buzzy between her legs.  But Spock put the deficiency beyond dispute, by reaching out and gliding the plane of his hand up the inside leg of her coulottes.

She set the washcloth down on the table, and let Spock stand.

“I have a suggestion,” he said.

It involved the place where the cloth had been located.  Spock taught her the term _uzhau tvi-shal_ , meaning a room where fighters made their bodies ready for combat or recovered after exertion.  This explained the sonic shower.  While Spock made use of that, Nyota followed his instructions to undress and hang her clothes inside the closet.  Then she was expected to select one of the two _pasu khavorta_ behind her.

It could be debated how much these _pasu_ qualified as tables.  Each stood on a central plinth that was fixed to the floor.  Nyota ran her hand over the surface of one and felt each of its interlocked, cushioned segments.  She noted with interest how it could bifurcate at the halfway point.  There was a control panel that rolled out from underneath, which tipped, tilted and reshaped.  She released a locking mechanism and with a gentle push set the whole tabletop spinning.

She was watching that spin come slowly to a halt when Spock approached from behind her.  He toyed with her ponytail, swept the hair back and forth across her shoulders.

“Interesting features,” she said, and cast a glance over her shoulder in pure flirtation.

“No doubt you have imagined the potential applications for these.”

Nyota felt his hand arrive at the top of her head, where she had removed Amanda’s beautiful clip and only her plain black elastic held her hair.  As his fingers placed a decided and desirable kind of pressure on her scalp just in front of the band, he added, “However, you appear to have forgotten my final instruction to make yourself recumbent.”

All she did was lean against him, because the scalp massage was very moreish.  The next thing she knew she was lifted off her feet and very soon after that her back learned how comfortable the pasu was designed to be.

Spock left her briefly.  During that interval the lighting changed; Nyota did not understand how but everything in the room became easier on the eyes.  Music started, unusual music.

“What is it?” she asked, when Spock had returned.

“You once mentioned a penchant for post-contact jazz.  This is a Vulcan emsemble improvisational form, called _terau_.  It does not command a significant listening audience, therefore I do not believe it is known off-planet, except by those non-Vulcan musicians who occasionally contribute to a performance.”

That would explain the distinct sound of a baritone sax.  While Nyota listened, she felt Spock lift her ponytail and drape it behind her head. Then the elastic band slowly slipped away as the saxaphone faded and the sounds of other instruments took prominence.

Spock identified these when she asked.  She did not enquire about the fine spray of mist, the noise becoming part of the _terau_ performance, but felt a cooling sensation as the moisture settled on the crown of her head.  She felt his fingers land on her temples and smooth backwards, return and repeat the motion, and this with the music was wonderful.  Her mind went blank for a while, just enjoying.

More mist rained down, and then Spock lifted her hair.  She felt how fastidiously he parted it, starting from the roots and teasing the tangles out with his fingertips.  Two pieces of music started and finished while he worked until Nyota knew she had a quadrant parting and four distinct portions of hair, two in front of her ears and two behind.  The front sections he brought over her head and laid across her chest.  They were tied near the ends with what looked very much like strips of gauze.

He answered her question before her thoughts quite formed it.

“An improvisation on my part.  Your own fastenings are not close to hand, and though the clubroom replicator menu is extensive, it will require additional programming to produce the exact products needed for your maintenance routine.”

“My maintenance …,”

“You have been away from Earth seven days, the usual interval between washes.  The fact that members of your family will be arriving tomorrow for the party makes it more likely you will wish to clean your hair, and therefore I have replicated a suitable collagen emulsion and oil to apply --,”

Nyota cut the air with her hand until he realised what she meant and paused.

“How did you … does Starfleet Academy library have a hair care database too?”

“Not that I am aware,” Spock replied.  “My source of information on this subject was your roommate.”

The hand in the air came down to cover Nyota’s mouth.  Even here, without witnesses, she could not let herself laugh out loud.

Once she felt under control, she asked, “Gaila taught you how I look after my hair?”

“She told me she derives considerable enjoyment from helping you.”

“Yeah, she does,” Nyota admitted.  “And she’s good, very gentle and patient.”

“I would request the opportunity to demonstrate the same capability.”

Nyota shook her head.  “You want to do my pre poo?”

“Your tone seems hesitant,” he said.  “Would this be culturally inappropriate?”

“No --,”

The baritone sax had returned, playing a weird but working duet with a _kolchak_.

“No, no --,”

While he waited for a fuller answer, Spock’s fingers saw no reason to stop moving.  They pressed on either side of her central parting, pushing and holding the skin in a pinch for several seconds, then releasing the tension.

“Just...,” she breathed out at the same time.  Her head felt more open, expanded because it had to accommodate surprise and delight.  Of course, his hands perceived both and so it was not necessary to say or do anything else, only relax into the cushioned _pasu_ and let the music continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have said thanks before, but I really don't know what I would do without https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/ -- the online Vulcan Dictionary. It can only be a labour of love, and my stories would not be the same without it. Gratitude to Kai Becker the webmaster!


	27. A Present to Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock wants to purchase Kanchipuram silk for Nyota. To learn more about this special occasion fabric, check out https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kanchipuram_Silk.
> 
> If you need some colour therapy, type "Kanchipuram saree" into Google and scroll through Images. Beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Lik'rt – seconds  
> Pasu khavorta – a table used for Vulcan neuro-pressure treatment  
> uzhau tvi-shal - revival room

The replicator offered an unexpectedly large selection of shower caps.  Spock identified six different product categories on the basis of appearance:

  * those with repeated botanical motifs (66%)
  * those having white circles (varying diameters) against a solid coloured ground (12%)
  * caps with geometric patterns (4%)
  * headpieces for young children with a forehead brim and ear coverings (1%)
  * caps with appendages (patterned or plain – 11%)
  * those made from transparent or semi-transparent material (6%)



There were also different sizes.  Spock could understand this.  Otherwise the number of choices bewildered him.  He was reminded of other Terran objects -- small and utilitarian and worthy of little notice -- which humans wished to own in unnecessary quantity purely for visual variety.  Shower caps appeared to be one such item, along with PADD styli, sonic dentabits, cups for hot beverages and socks.

Nyota was appraised in full about the replicator options while conditioner and oil were applied to her hair.  Spock sensed bemusement whenever he made contact with the skin on her scalp, and this reaction grew stronger the longer he continued to list the available downloads.  She was also curious, and for this reason he carried on.

His own feelings remained under guard.  Logically, it should not concern him what style she chose -- gingham check in leaf green, red strawberries on a turquoise ground or a cap with pink mouse ‘ears’.  And it bore no relevance to the continued success of their relationship if Nyota happened to possess a collection of waterproof headwear in garish and crudely rendered floral prints.

She made her decision three point seven _lik’rt_ after he finished reciting the full catalogue.

“Clear polymer cap, size large,” she said.

“Undecorated?” he asked.

“Undecorated.”

The time he spent at the replicator was sufficient to tamp down the unusual emotional reactions to her choice -- relief and satisfaction.  In addition, there was anticipation, verging on excitement.  Spock tried to track the origins of this feeling and also use the clubroom PADD to download the replicator’s catalogue for scarves.  These were too numerous to be recited.

He returned to the _uzhau tvi-shal_ with one shower cap but no additional self-knowledge.  Nyota sat up on the _pasu khavorta_ , coiling the sections of her hair into knots.  Anticipation played in the background of Spock’s mind like _terau_ music while she fitted the cap over her head and then left the table briefly to clean her hands in the sonic shower.  Temptation – Vulcan had no word which conveyed this concept, in relation to how much he wanted to choose a scarf for her.  Withstanding the urge was not impossible, yet he allowed himself a glance at the first item showing on the PADD.  It was a meter square sash woven from nineteen momme Regellan silk, sun bleached and wrapped in Boda fern leaves which transferred their photosynthetic compounds to the fabric, leaving an impression of their vein structures in shades of vermillion.

* * *

 

Spock did not look up when Nyota came out from the shower. He did not speak until she was close enough to peer over his shoulder, curious to know what it was on the PADD he obtained which riveted his attention.

“Kanchipuram,” she read aloud, “for my hair?”

“The quality of the fibre and weaving is highly reputed,” Spock replied.

“I can see that. They charge five hundred Federation credits for the replication copywrite.”

“I have no objection.”

“But it would be an injustice to such craftsmanship,” she said, “like sleeping in a wedding saree.”

She reached around him and reset the PADD download filters, to display only items which cost nothing to copy.  He let her scroll through a few pages of these without comment.

“There --,”

She pointed to a plain, grey synthi-satin scarf.

“That is exactly what I have in my bag upstairs.”

Spock did not speak, move or make any minute adjustments to the blank expression on his face, not until Nyota tried to touch him.  Then he expertly evaded her, as if her fingers might burn.

“I will return shortly,” he said, and marched out of the room like an officer following an order.  More importantly, officer _sans_ uniform.  Before she concerned herself with whatever caused Spock to turn contact shy, Nyota appreciated his naked back.  Two shifting ranges of dorsal muscles lead her eye down, down that leaner, longer than average torso to ass cheeks as neat as a pair of pistachio shells.

When he returned, it seemed he had used the absence to process something.  Perhaps he only wanted to review what Gaila taught him about fitting the scarf, though somehow she doubted this.  Spock folded, positioned, tied and tucked the synthi-satin into a snug turban; Nyota patted her head all over and could not find fault.

“Lovely,” she said, hopping back onto the pasu khavorta and smiling.  “Do you accept kisses in payment for your services?”

Her body got ready for, well, anything except what actually happened.  Spock stayed where he was, delicately drew his arms behind his back.  His mouth opened to speak.  Then some internal censor intervened, perhaps banned the thought outright but did not insist that he do anything else.  He remained on the verge of words without making any.

“Nothing to say?” she tried.

He levered his lower jaw up, down and up again.

“You know,” she wriggled her thighs apart, gripped the table edge between them and leaned forward.  “Unless you can live without kisses altogether, all I have to do is wait until you give in and you will tell me whatever I want to know.”

He gave a tight nod, as if tugged by a cord embedded in his chin.  And he turned on the balls of his feet and came one step closer.  She reached out to him.

“Tell me why you wanted to buy Kanchipuram silk.”

He seemed to assess the gap between them, not with confidence.

“What motivated you?  Did you feel as though you owed me a debt?”

“Negative,” he said at last.

“Okay,” she replied, “that’s good.”

More waiting.  Her extended arm began to ache a bit, and so she made a fist and released it.  Spock watched her fingers move; she let them paddle the air, crooked her index finger as a beckoning.  That worked.  He made up the remaining centimetres, hesitant but hapless –- a faint psi transfer was already communicating itself with the skin warmth that preceded contact by a fraction of a moment.

She ran her fingers up his throat, over his jaw and cheek.  His thoughts emerged in bright colours.  Nyota fixed on his meld points and went deeper to get perspective.  The colours seemed to lap against her mind, relax into her.  She started to recognise background and foreground and patterns, a very familiar teardrop lotus flower and peacocks perched in verdant trees.

Pretty soon she was wearing these colours, a few Vulcan neutrals but the balance tipped decisively in favour of richness: fuschia, magenta, cerulean, parakeet green.  She felt colour slide up her body, roll over her shoulder and down her back.  Lengths of it were cut away and more kept coming.

Spock felt like the engine driving that endless display.

- _It excites you to dress me up_ -

She left him with that thought, and eased away from the bond.  When she could see his face clearly, she nudged the tip of his nose playfully.

“As much as undressing me?” she asked, and then had a thought.  “Or is that part of the fun?  If you gift wrap me in expensive cloth, maybe I become a present to yourself, that you can open later.”

Bullseye.

The point must have hit home deep and true; Spock seemed to look at her with new eyes.

“I concur with your analysis,” he said.

“Huh.”

Now it was her turn to be speechless.

“Okay,” she said, still thinking.

Spock, misunderstanding, began to apologise. “I assure you I will cease all such objectifying inclinations --,”

“No, no,” Nyota interjected. “I’m not displeased.  The opposite of displeased, actually.”

“And yet you seem … taken aback.”

“I was having a moment of realisation myself.  Now I understand the size of your mother’s overflow closet.”

Spock made an expression as though she had finished her sentence in another language.

“My mother’s … what?”


	28. Discovering a Motion

“You know,” Nyota said, “that massive room she has.”

She explained where Amanda had taken her, and enthused about the number of beautiful garments.

“Enough to clothe a starship crew.  Maybe two.”

Spock shook his head.  “I was not aware.”

And she could tell, with her hand still resting against his face, that this small piece of knowledge was a clue to a much bigger mystery.  She shifted her fingertips to try and get the details.

“You--,”

The truth shouldn't have surprised her.  Hadn’t she discovered, after T’Shin disappeared, a concealed, secured space inside the room where her guardian once slept?

“You have never seen any part of your parents’ private apartments.”

“That is correct,” Spock replied.

“Not even when you were a small child?”

The question was rhetorical, whether Nyota admitted it or didn’t.  She could recall, while her mother and father were alive, spending the occasional Sunday morning sitting between them in their bed, impressing them with how well she could read from her PADD.  No such indulgence was permitted later, when a Vulcan took over her care.

“No,” Spock said.  “Until I turned five I slept in adjacent accommodation, in what is now the music room.”

Nyota nodded.

“Okay, then I feel privileged.  Not only did I see this room, but your mother left me with a distinct impression that your father purchased most of the clothes.  That might explain your … interest.”

She felt Spock take in this information, marvel momentarily at the possibility that Sarek might understand from experience the captivating nature of fine textiles and how compelling it was to imagine the same cloth adding to the already captivating nature of a mate.  Then he quickly stored the reaction away.  What remained readable in his mind was a residual hope that Nyota might let him buy Kanchipuram silk … eventually.

She leaned forward and gave him a featherweight kiss on the lips.

“I suppose I will be expected to wear something new for tomorrow’s party.”

* * *

 

Nyota would not permit him to follow his immediate impulse to fetch the PADD.  The second kiss he received included a reminder about the _pir mah_ feeding and the promise he made afterwards against her thigh.

_-Do not misunderstand-_

Her hand resting on his face made her point clear.

_-I am not complaining about the improvisation.  But before we do anything else, could I find out how you intended to satisfy me?  I noticed the pasu khavorta opens …,-_

She visualised, rather than described, how she would recline on her back while he adjusted the table so it bifurcated and spread her legs apart.  In return, he visualised himself standing in the place between her knees, lubricating his hands with more of the oil he had used on her hair.

“Do it now,” she said aloud.  “Forget about clothes.”

He had forgotten before she said it.

Though it was not long before he understood the usefulness of his fascination with dressing her.  Nyota let him go, turned her body and rolled her hips.  The motion lifted her slender legs into the air.  She leaned back onto her elbows, used short strokes with her upper arms to travel backwards over the _pasu_.  Each time she shifted her breasts jumped.

To think about covering these parts of her was an aid to self-control.  His challenge, now they had agreed to do nothing but be naked, would be to touch her without tasting her.  All the time he spent in the Academy library, researching the structure of her and the techniques for arousal, had been underutilised, because he had not stayed sober.  Could he convince his brain to conduct itself as though this was a careful anatomical study?

And would Nyota be happy with such an approach?

* * *

 

The first touch was bestowed on her mons pubis.  She could hear an echo of Spock’s mind, recalling the Latin term, as he let the oily fingers of one hand press the soft centre of the mound, feel the bone it cushioned.  He drew along her bikini line six times, three in either direction.  Simultaneously, they were both nostalgic for yesterday afternoon on the rug in his bedroom.  Nyota felt Spock divert, for maybe half a minute, into thoughts about bikinis.  How many variations existed on the clubroom replicator database?

When he caught himself in his error, the apology was tactile, skimming the slant of her pelvic bone toward the centre of her body.

She lifted her hips and pushed, made his knuckles slip down into the warm crease of her left thigh.  He poured more oil there and planed up the slope, pulling the skin in the direction of her knee and drawing her _kotik_ open on that side.  For symmetry the same treatment was given to her other leg.

Then the smooth spout of the oil bottle touched one of her folds, and they were drizzled.  Gentle fingering coated and spread her lips apart like petals.  She tipped her head back and sighed Spock’s name.

He made an answering sound and pulled on the hood of tissue which concealed her _ko-lok_.

Suddenly the music, which had continued throughout but ceased to be noticed, burst back into her awareness.  Dry, scratching notes, made by friction between vibrating strings, accompanied Spock playing her, slippery explorations as he tried to positively identify and stimulate the length of her clitoris below the skin.

All the nerves around it seemed to flutter.  Nyota heard a thin, reedy voice say, “Spock? Spock, are you hard?”

It seemed there was a wait, excruciating and delicious, before he answered.

“I am.”

“Okay,” she gasped.  “Could … could you oil yourself and come inside me?  Not -- not all the way.  Could you stay still but keep your fingers doing what they’re doing?”

Another pause.  The music stopped too, between the end of one number and the start of the next.

“I believe I could,” he replied.

Penetration was accompanied by the new _terau_ composition and a frenetic paradiddle on small cymbals; Nyota cooed and patted her stomach in satisfaction.  A series of chimes joined in, the musician running over them from the lowest pitch to the highest and down.  Spock fingers took inspiration and skimmed their way in an arc, back and forth against top half of her cleft, riding the stroke onto the outer labia until Nyota felt two places under her skin, on either side of his erection, which buzzed just like they did during the hand feeding.

He anointed her clit again.  The rubbing had no friction but gave a wicked rush. 

She called out, “Wait!!” and he did.  She opened her eyes (no idea when they closed) and saw him staring at her chest as it heaved and fell.

“Come in,” she panted.  “Come in all the way … very slowly.”

She watched him try to concentrate on careful motion while his breath came out with a shudder.  The heavy, hairy pelvic plane of him mashed against her tip and tipped her.  She wanted the stimulation overload now.  She was going to tell him to push but his skin could read hers well enough.  He rolled his hips onto her like he meant to compress her into the _pasu_ , make her a flat layer over the cushion.  He canted back and pressed again, back and again, back and again --

Nyota yowled fiercely at a sensation which was good and yet not, exactly.  She pressed against him as hard as she could but the contact spot she wanted seemed just that little bit further inside.  Spock came after she went limp.  She lay gulping air and trembling, unsure whether it had happened for her or not.

“Spock …,”

By the godsend of touch telepathy he was assessing the situation. He withdrew his _lok_ and inserted two fingers.  She felt the pads taking tender steps inside her; his most sensitive skin searched for hers.  Nyota meant to lie still but that was impossible.  At first there was no intent to her actions, just a lot of delectable grinding and rolling and feeling.  While the music continued, they did not find a location but accidentally discovered a motion.  It did something for both of them.  Spock growled and she called out, “yes” or “ow” or “oh” or “yow” louder and louder until she drowned out the musicians.


	29. Spill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you need an understanding (or a refresher) about the relationship between Gaila and Jim Kirk in my version of AOS, go back to Chapters 5, 8 and 16 of "The Architecture of Emotion".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter 
> 
> Elmuvak Isach – hair unction. Memory Alpha doesn’t say much about Vulcan hair, but I imagined that some product would be needed to replenish follicles exposed to so much desert heat. 
> 
> Pasu Khavorta – a table for Vulcan neuropressure treatments 
> 
> Terau – A Vulcan style of improvisational music 
> 
> uzhau tvi-shal - revival room 
> 
> Sos spa’ra tu – literally, “May I eat you?” and when said by a female to a male this is a request for penetration. Other possibilities I leave to the reader’s imagination.
> 
> Talukh nash-veh k’dular - "I cherish you"

The sonic shower inside Clubroom Two had three different frequency heads, a handheld exfoliator and a computer activated unit to dispense cleansing and finishing products.  Nyota was mainly there to browse.  Tomorrow she planned to spend ages underneath the pulse arrays, soften the soles of her feet with the exfoliator, sample the gel scented with Antarian Moon Blossom and the creamy _Elmuvak Isach_ which she recognised, because Spock kept a bottle of it in his apartment hygiene station.

Right now, she just needed to freshen up before bed.

Bed, this night, would be the clubroom’s sparring circle, its cushioned floor upgraded by the addition of replicated comforters and pillows.  And because he pleaded so nicely, she had relented, and let Spock indulge his desire to buy her something luxurious.

 _Terau_ music was still playing from the ceiling feed over the _pasu khavorta_ ; they had forgotten all about it.  Nyota let the improvisations accompany her ablutions.  And when she came out from the shower, fluid string sounds rose fittingly to a crescendo at the moment she unfolded Spock’s gift – a silk slip nightdress and matching robe, the colour of toast.

She put them on.  She danced a little, twirled to see how the fabric would lift and billow.  Then she asked the household computer to pause the music and gradually dim the illumination inside the _uzhau tvi-shal_ , giving her time to walk out.

On her way back to bed, she remembered to pick up the PADD.

During the time she had been away, Spock rolled from his side onto his stomach; his head was now face down in the dip where their pillows met.  Nyota tutted – next time she must remember to leave him on his back.  Easing her pillow away did not wake him.  When she patted his cheeks and called his name his eyelids fluttered.  He mumbled some euphoric incoherence, caught the scent of her hand and turned his body in the direction she wanted because it would reward him with a taste of her.  She let him suck her thumb.

That made the process of accessing her own data from the PADD longer.  The time in San Francisco was needed first – Starfleet portal said it was thirteen hundred hours and thirty-seven minutes.  Perfect.  Gaila usually ate late, and liked to be in their apartment.  Nyota started typing.

- _Hi roomie_ -

Five seconds later --

- _C.B.!!  Glad to hear from you, but much, MUCH gladder that I have NOT heard from you_ -

Nyota inserted a vlip into the text feed, instead of a reply.  It showed her reaction to the first time Gaila announced that she had invited Commander Spock to join them for lunch.  In the shot, Nyota stood hands on hips and upper lip curled with incredulity as she said, “Seriously?”  The Orion gave her that footage weeks later, confessing she had filmed it secretly with the intention of sending Spock visual evidence that the cadet who fascinated him was equally fascinated.

Thankfully, one bad video was not enough to discourage Gaila.

- _I have never been more serious in my life, Cutie Bootie.  Silence means … well, maybe you are going to tell me what it means?_ -

A big maybe.

- _Gaila, I don’t_ -

Still one-handed, Nyota accidentally sent those words by themselves.  She knew this would happen.  Gaila loved – no, Gaila expected to exchange details about sexual activity in conversation with friends.  In Orion culture this was small talk, as everyday as human discussions about weather and holiday plans.  It ran so contrary to most human custom, not to mention how Nyota was raised.  And so the subject still created tension between them.

- _Please C.B., whatever you can manage.  You could just describe a kiss – Terrans do that sometimes.  Just one kiss_ -

Nyota could pick from a profusion. Spock admitted, at last, that sex without tasting her felt less than satisfying.  So they set up their bed on the floor and he attempted to kiss his way from her feet to her face.  A brave intention, which one day he would manage.  As things were, he got as far as the small of her back.  Then she had to turn over and put herself where his mouth was, those body parts which had started to ache in anticipation.

Very likely he would recall and be dismayed by his greed, uninhibited slurps and grunts, lecherous murmurs while his lips dragged over her skin to their next destination.   It took several minutes to kiss the bend behind both her knees, by which time they were both so electrified she begged aloud, “ _Sos spa’ra tu_?”

No hesitation -- Spock flopped bonelessly onto his back and let Nyota ride the only part of him that remained hard.  Her orgasm started like a hot pinpoint and ended in a sudden flash.  She rubbed his chest afterwards, saying, “ _Talukh nash-veh k’dular_ ” over and over, so he would remember the affection they felt even though he could not repeat the words without slurring them.

Then they returned to the kissing challenge.  Spock worked his way up her thighs to her ass where he licked away all evidence of their copulation, as far inside as his tongue could stretch.  It was a near certainty he left a hickey on her right cheek.

She turned over when he moaned, as if in agony.  His head slipped off her back.  But there seemed no harm done, only that he had consumed too much of her too quickly. As Nyota leaned close to his slack face, a pair of dreamy eyes shifted as if he could still follow her movements.  His mouth opened and closed like a hungry infant’s.  The kisses she helped him make from then on were no less enjoyable than the previous ones.  So she was spoiled for choice, in terms of the number of stories she might relate to her roommate.

But she could not do it.  And even if she could, she would not violate Spock’s trust when he could not speak for himself, or undervalue their privacy.  Gaila would need to learn that these things now mattered more.

- _I know this will seem harsh_ -

Nyota left that sentence unfinished intentionally.  She could imagine Gaila’s sigh.

- _You’re going to say nothing, aren’t you?_ -

- _I am going to say it has been wonderful, and you have been wonderful for helping to make it happen._ -

Spock’s mouth relaxed, let go of Nyota’s thumb.  She dried it using the corner of her pillowcase, which took her attention away from the PADD.  When she checked the display again, Gaila seemed resigned to the status quo.

- _Okay, C.B._ -

Nyota took a minute to lie down, get under the comforter and snuggle against Spock.  Then she picked up the PADD and tried to create a pleasant distraction, so that Gaila would not be left unhappy.

- _Why don’t you tell me about Jim Kirk?  Please don’t play dumb this time – I won’t be joining his fan club but if you honestly have a thing for him, I guess I could try to be civil._ -

Gaila’s reply came back.

- _I could kill him._ -

Nyota puckered her lips with delight, and her fingers could not type fast enough.

- _Spill. I need to know everything._ -


	30. Perspectives on a Party, Part 1

Sarek calculated that, as of that morning, he had spent one thousand, four hundred and fifteen hours observing his bondmate asleep.

Typically, this watching happened at the beginning of his day, after he had meditated, showered and dressed.  He used to stand over her, until Amanda informed him that the effect was unsettling.  They engaged in discussions on the matter.  At the time it surprised him how her unconscious mind could sense anything, given the care he took to maintain psi silence.

The conversation led to changes.  A chair was placed by their bed where he could sit, or it was also permissible for him to sit next to her on the mattress.  Contrary to his presumptions, Amanda preferred to have some kind of telepathic interaction; it had been the thoughtlessness, combined with him staring down on her, which she found objectionable.

Some trial and error followed.  Eventually they discovered the most beneficial application of the bond to aid sleep, established a routine.  Sarek began by accessing her dreams.

This morning, Amanda’s mind had taken details from their private apartments – particularly her wardrobe – and transposed them into a commercial outlet situated in the Ogsu district of Shi’Kahr.  She dreamed she was a shopkeeper.  Customers came one at a time and without any lull between the departure of the last and the arrival of the next.  Sarek noted this and other characteristic improbabilities.  Louisa Grayson took payments for the purchases, although she died two years after her daughter was born.  All patrons were individuals invited to the party, and some did not pay for their clothes.  T’Pau entered the premises naked.

When Sarek sensed his wife’s shock, he decided to intervene.

He called to her.  The sound of his voice dissolved both the dreamscape and its emotions.  Amanda reenvisaged her wardrobe as her wardrobe, and sighed relief.

- _Thank goodness you came_ -

And she made him appear, as if he stood opposite her with a rail of her clothes between them.  He supplied his own reply.

- _Does this dream reflect your current state of mind?_ -

Amanda nodded.

- _So much to do yet_ -

- _What will you wear?_ -

- _Me?  I suppose … I suppose …_ -

It was clear she had not considered this, nor was sure when she would find time.  Sarek took possession of her image of him, moved along the rail, scanning the garments which hung there.

- _May I make a suggestion?_ -

Amanda’s reply sounded doubtful, possibly facetious.

- _Suggestion_ -

- _As I recall, you have worn this particular ensemble only once_ -

- _Sarek_ -

She did not go on because it was unnecessary.  Any individual, possessing several hundred articles of formal attire, with no system for choosing among them, would likely wear some items less often.

It was also unnecessary for his dream persona to show hers the item in question.  Sarek crossed the room to a set of cabinets, two meters high, two meters deep and eight meters across.  It formed an archive of sorts, a repository for garments more than ten Vulcan years old.  Temperature and humidity controls, along with treated wrappings, preserved the contents.

As soon as he laid his hand against the panel of the first cabinet door, he felt Amanda revive the correct memory and she knew exactly what his suggestion would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your patience this week. Big, fat family stuff happened -- you know, the sort of thing that does not happen often and consequently matters when it does. That's where all my time and attention went last weekend. I did not think I would be ready to publish tonight but I'm glad that inspiration came.
> 
> I am on vacation all next week. My goal is to turn out as much writing as possible -- aiming to produce another three chapters by October 13th, at least 500 words each, to get this party started!


	31. The Second Course of Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early morning on the day of the party, this chapter contains more details, by way of Amanda's dream, about how she and Sarek got together. Their story is scattered all over the Soul Possessions and Missing Pieces series. Go to these chapters if you need/want an refresher:
> 
> Alpha Incognito, Chapter 9, final section  
> A Tale of Two Tyrants, Chapter 12, third section  
> Love the Unintending Rebel, Chapter 6, third section, all of Chapter 10, the first section of Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Watson” - Andrew Grayson’s nickname for his sister. In Star Trek VI, “The Undiscovered Country”, Spock says, “An ancestor of mine once maintained that,” and quoted Arthur Conan Doyle. I decided to run with the idea that Amanda’s family is descended from Doyle, and that maybe brother and sister once played at being Holmes and Watson.

Amanda made Sarek wait; she wanted to open the cabinet herself.  Inside the doors it was the year 2228.  She knew that because her brother stood wedged between the rails of wrapped clothes, wearing the University of Washington waterproofs issued to the landscape crew.  And he had all his hair.

“This isn’t anything _final_ , Amanda,” he said, while he tried to work his arms free.  “We can still negotiate an end to negotiations, if that’s what you want.”

Andrew made a very good shuttle diplomat.  In November that year, the Vulcan Embassy withdrew Amanda’s class B consulate pass, and summoned her brother to the building instead.  They both assumed she had done or said something inappropriate during the student exchange visit.  Amanda could think of two definite errors and several other lapses, starting with her inability to curtail unnecessary eye contact with Ambassador Sarek.

Her thoughts would have seen her expelled from Vulcan, had they been discovered.

She was half right and half wrong about the reason her pass was withdrawn.  Andrew called her after the meeting.

“The Ambassador’s wife has died.”

“What? How?”

“I wasn’t given details,” Andrew said.  “It means there can’t be a second student exchange in January.  The Ambassador’s household will be in mourning --,”

“--and it would not be appropriate,” Amanda finished his sentence, a bad habit of hers.

“But regardless, the Ambassador has reservations about the program.  And that _is_ because of you.”

Amanda took deep breaths to steel herself.

“OK, say it.”

“My dear Watson, I have to say it.  He made me write it down -- _‘I wish to apologise for those occasions during the student exchange when my behaviour lacked the expected decorum’_.”

“ _His_ behaviour?”

“Wait for it,” Andrew cautioned.  “ _’Following considerable thought and consultation, I conclude that there must exist between myself and your sister an affinity of the kind which can undermine the mental disciplines Vulcans consider paramount._ ’”

Amanda made the shape of ‘oh’ with her lips.  That was all. 

“ _’In order to retain my posting as Ambassador, I can conceive of only two possible courses of action.  The first would be to cease all contact, officially or unofficially, with your sister._ ’”

Nothing more.  When the silence extended beyond seven seconds, Amanda blurted out, “Mental torture isn’t in your nature.”

“I agree.  That’s why I stopped.  The second option is … well, not an option.”

“What do you mean?”

“No, it’s better you don’t know.  Just remember how successful the exchange was.  Maybe organise a different one, on Andoria or Betazed --,”

“Andrew …,”

“Seriously, Amanda --,”

“What is it?”

“Damn it, don’t make me,” Andrew groaned.

“Make you what?  Tell me that the Ambassador wants to marry me?”

Amanda laughed as she said it.  Inside her, there was a worm of undefined anxiety that gave her laughter a slightly manic quality.  She couldn’t quite stop herself, even though she knew the look on her brother’s face was cold shock.  He waited until his grim expression cooled her down, and then he gave her a scrutinising look.

“’ _The second course of action would be to appoint an intermediary, preferably someone who understands Terran courtship customs and who would prioritise Amanda Grayson’s best interests, in order to negotiate the terms of a closer relationship._ ’”

Andrew wriggled his upper body out from between the parcels of clothes, to bring his accusing stare a little closer.

“Why didn't the Ambassador use your married name?”

Amanda hesitated, only long enough to realise there was no point.

“I told him I’d divorced Martin.”

“You -- you haven’t even told me you were thinking about --,”

“Will you be the intermediary?”

“What?!”

“I was – I have, I … it’s been on my mind for a while now,” Amanda stammered. “I’m not the right person for Martin.”

“Did you just ask me to negotiate this crazy offer?”

“Would you?”

“The right person for the Vulcan Ambassador is another Vulcan.”

“Could we just …,” Amanda scoured her mind for the best words, “...explore the possibility?”

Then Andrew vanished, and the clothes in the cabinet shifted to take up the empty space.  He reappeared behind her, where previously Sarek had been standing.

“We both thought we’d made the wrong decision, didn’t we?” he said.  “Far as I was concerned, you had lost your sanity.  You thought I might tell Sarek the truth and ruin your chances.”

He put an arm around her shoulders.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked.

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Tell the truth.”

“It sure as hell wasn’t some magical foresight.  I didn’t have a vision of all this.  To be honest, I didn’t take the first negotiation meeting seriously.  You only tell the truth when you’re serious.”

“And when did you start to take it seriously?”

“About five minutes ago,” Andrew replied.  “Now look, the Ambassador is waiting.  Are you going to try on this outfit or should I tell him the deal is off?”

Smiling, she reached into the cabinet and pulled out the cedar case that rested on a high shelf.


	32. April the 12th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can tell this chapter was begging to be written because I created it so quickly. 
> 
> BTW, Vuhnaya Academy was the San Francisco school where my version of Amanda was a teacher. If you skim read Chapter 10 of "Love the Unintending Rebel" you will get the story of how she met and married Martin Atkinson, her first husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: what Amanda wore -- the outfit is my invention, so I cannot link you to a photograph. But with my so-so drawing skills, I made a pencil sketch and posted it on my Tumblr blog.
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vitaelampada

Wisps of the dream lingered.  Amanda got up, checked the computer's morning report, showered, meditated.  Five times she walked past the unmade bed and five times she expected to see (or thought she had seen) the cedar dress box from her wardrobe.  But that was the dream.  She wrapped a cloak over her underwear and left the bedroom.

Andrew and Sarek met six times between November 2228 and March 2229.  Mutual accord accumulated, to a point where her brother could no longer see why he should speak on his sister's behalf.

“Might be more useful if I starting negotiating your divorce,” he said.

“Very funny.”

“No, I’m serious. When are you going to --,”

Memory had not preserved the words she used to keep her brother at bay.  Though in the end, he was the person who broke the news to Martin Atkinson.

In her dream, the dress box had veneer thin sides she tore open like gift wrapping.  The real thing was sturdier.  Amanda removed it from the wardrobe cabinet, set it down on her pressing table, released the lid and carefully turned aside the double layers of paramuslin lining.

The seventh meeting, or Amanda’s first, convened on April the 12th, 2229 in Seattle.  Andrew hired the summer house at the centre of Washington Park Arboretum.  It was a structure built to enclose a private garden which was alive with colour on that day, the border plantings crowded with tulip, primrose and iris varieties.  As she walked through the park to the venue, Amanda got looks from visitors and employees.  But she had chosen her clothing for Sarek, to recognise his clan colour and emulate Vulcan style.  The arrival of spring was not her concern.

She lifted the black dress out of the box and studied the fabric.  Matt silk crepe, satin backed – the embroidery was all but invisible.  In the correct light it looked like a sudden, silvery drizzle sweeping down the front of the floor length skirt.  Over that she wore a black chiffon gillet, bow collar not tied but wrapped and tucked in turtleneck fashion round her throat. The gillet hemline extended further than the dress, to give her a train.

She had purchased black gloves. They seemed too tight, and therefore not the right message.  She exchanged them for a velvet muff.

The cut of the gown was meant to achieve a balance between flow and fit.  So there was some ease, but thirty years was still thirty years.  Amanda opened the dress at the back and stepped into it, worked the fabric up over her knees and hips carefully, then put her arms inside the long sleeves.  A mirror told her time had tipped the balance more towards fit.  She wondered, with a smile, whether Sarek knew better than the mirror exactly how the silk would fall against her curves.

As if summoned by that thought, there was a tone from the corridor, requesting entrance to the wardrobe.

“Just a moment,” she said.  She tapped the fastening control under one sleeve to close the dress, lifted the gillet out of the cedar box and carried it with her to the door.

“Enter.”

Her bondmate came inside.

“Our breakfast is prepared,” he told her.

“I see.”

She shook out the gillet, put it on, watched him as he watched her.

“Is our computer malfunctioning?” she asked innocently.  “I did not hear the usual signal for mealtime.”

Then Amanda returned to the mirror.  She wanted to tie and fluff the gillet collar into a frothy chiffon bow and that bow had to sit dead centre, under her chin.  Sarek appeared in the reflection shortly after she finished, looking grave.

“I am not aware of any fault with our domestic systems,” he said.  “However, I am concerned about this particular detail of your presentation.”

Sarek pointed to the bow.

“It covers the neckline of the dress, which is not as your brother originally instructed.”

“You came here to inspect my clothing, _adun_?” she asked.  She smiled at his reflection.

“I came here to assist you with one of the accessories.”

“Of course.”

Andrew had inspected the dress, that April morning.  He said, wryly, “You look like a widow.”

She could not think of an unincriminating reply -- she, the woman who still pretended to be unmarried.  With hindsight, she could say it didn’t feel like infidelity before April the 12th.  She had not done more than imagine being intimate with another man, had not seen or communicated with Sarek for six months.

Then, on April the 12th, in the complete privacy of the summer house, the Vulcan Ambassador had to stand close enough to present her with his token of commitment to their ongoing courtship, close enough to extend his arms behind her head and fasten the very delicate clasp of a necklace.

With hindsight, this was asking too much.  The magnitude of the attracting force between them –- she had never experienced anything so powerful.

Now Sarek reached under the chiffon and touched her only exposed skin, choosing the same place he did then.

“The _vokaya_ pendant will not be visible,” he protested.  “This configuration of fabric will conceal it.”

Amanda lifted her hand, just as she did on April the 12th, and placed her fingertips against his.

“I have had an idea about that, since I woke up."

Somewhere between Spock's conception (Amanda recalled looking up at the tulips) and his birth, she and Martin divorced and he remarried.  His second wife turned out to be the business manager at Vuhnaya Academy, but Amanda felt it would be hypocritical for her to entertain any suspicions.  As years went by she established a polite rapport with the new Atkinson family (all six of them), and would never dream of asking her ex if he had been doing the same thing she had been doing in the year 2229. 

"Would you have any objection," Amanda asked Sarek, "if I gave the necklace to our son?”


	33. Perspectives on a Party, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Tum-vel, shi t’ko-mekh - Computer, locate my mother 
> 
> Sa-fu talukh – precious son 
> 
> Nu’ri-veh – young one. Both this term and the one above are used to address small children

During their final year at Starfleet Academy, Spock’s roommate Bovial Ch’ziaqis developed a fondness for the Terran habit called ‘sleeping in’.  Andorians and Vulcans could sustain optimum health with three to four Earth hours of rest.  Bovial gradually extended the time he spent in bed to six hours, occasionally to seven or eight during the holiday breaks.

“Do you not regret your lost productivity?” Spock once asked.

Bovial replied, “You and I are both several times more productive than Terran cadets.  And my body can invest sleep.  When I am commissioned, and my duties require a sleep sacrifice, I will have this reserve to draw from.”

Spock checked Starfleet medical data to confirm this fact about Andorian biology.  He found nothing.  After graduation, he served with Bovial on board the USS Titan, where they had separate quarters.  On the 10th of October 2253, at the end of Gamma shift, he asked his former roommate whether he had needed to make use of his sleep reserve yet.  Bovial responded with an expression of confusion.  Spock did not repeat the question.

Now, because of _shok_ , he was getting to know this ‘sleeping in’ experience.

Andorians did not share telepathic links with family members.  To wake up in Clubroom Two and be suddenly aware of so much ongoing mental activity was unpleasant.   Spock felt excluded, more than he usually did on Vulcan.  He did not know his place, his function.  He had no link with Nyota, to discover where she was.

He was about to consult the household computer, when he felt his mother’s mind.  She could not transmit much.  He only knew she wanted him.

“ _Tum-vel_ ,” he asked the machine, “ _shi t’ko-mekh_.”

She was in her study.  Spock gave the computer a message to transmit to her, and asked it to power up a robot and tidy the clubroom.  It took little time to clean and dress himself, yet that somehow added to his sense that he could not recoup what was lost.  He proceeded to the elevator with this mood to analyse and process.

* * *

 

Amanda indulged herself (and Spock, she hoped) with a broad smile when he entered the study.

Thank goodness she knew better than to gauge his reaction from his face.  Her son’s expression suggested sinus congestion; his eyelids were puffy.

“Spock,” she said, “you look tired.”

“Tiredness is a result of over-exertion or sleep deprivation,” he said.  To her mind, his stoic reply sounded like something pre-recorded.  “Neither of these is applicable in my case.”

“Is it not?”

She asked playfully, thinking the reference to exertions might be evidence of Spock’s dry wit, which expressed itself now and again, never often enough.  But she was wrong.  Now he looked tired _and_ aghast at what she implied by her question.

“Mother,” he said, “I regret what you witnessed yesterday --,”

“Spock!  Don’t you _dare_ apologise.”

The best joke was their standoff.  The sound of her own raised voice shocked Amanda into silence.  Yet underneath her black velvet muff her hands were fisted.  She meant her threat.  Spock had taken a step back from her desk, then braced his stance by planting his feet at different angles.  His blocking arm bent at the elbow, as if this were the opening round in a bout of _suus mahna_.

Amanda shook her head.

“Oh _sa-fu talukh_ , remember what I said then, that we could talk later?”

It would only take a second for Spock to recall their dialogue.

“I love you also,” she said.  “Now fetch that chair behind you and bring it here so you can see my work console.”

* * *

 

Spock did as he was told.  And he apologised, as he settled in the chair, for his overreaction.

“I will accept that,” his mother said.  It seemed she did not approve of the way his cloak was fastened to his outer robe, because she made a minor adjustment to the amount of cloth fed through the clasp, and patted the fastening when she finished.

“Nyota has told you about the party?” she asked.

“Affirmative.”

“Do you know who has been invited?”

“We did not discuss that in detail.”

The patting hand remained in place, though it had stopped moving.

“Our relatives you would recognise, so I simply made a list.  Nyota has drawn her family tree, so that we can familiarise ourselves with names, faces and relationships.”

* * *

 

“You have done a great deal of work,” Spock said, when they completed their review of the Uhura, Zawadi and Degera relations.  Three cousins and an uncle had already arrived, Amanda explained.  Nyota and her grandmother were entertaining them in Spock’s reception room.

“Oh,” Amanda shrugged it off.  “I would not say it was more than I did for your first bonding.”

“For my first bonding, I was expected to contribute to the effort.”

“True.”

Amanda uploaded the passenger list for the next flight due in from Starfleet Africa, and checked how many guests were mentioned.  Needless, because she had checked already.  Their drivers had the details, and the diplomatic hovercraft was on standby at Shi’Kahr shuttleport.  This was just a ruse, a way to be silent in case her son wanted to say more.

He did not.  Instead, his stomach growled.

“When did you last eat, _nu’ri-veh_?”

Spock looked, for a moment, like he would either resist telling her or protest because she continued to refer to him using terms Vulcans generally reserved for toddlers.  Whichever it was, he did not do it quickly enough.

“Let T’Haar to bring you breakfast here.  I want your advice about the garden illuminations.”

Another ruse.  A meal might improve his prickly state of mind, and that would be the better time to present him with the necklace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you all remember, way back, how I left a note saying Rumarie had only a few more chapters to go? I'm going to stop guesstimating that kind of thing. I will try to produce one more chapter before I return to work on Monday.


	34. Perspectives on a Party, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Nyota's cousins Penda and Irene are avoiding a certain subject which I won't describe here. It would mean spoilers for anyone who is reading in strict chronological order, and has only finished "The Architecture of Emotion".
> 
> If you have read "A Tale of Two Tyrants", part 4 of the Soul Possessions series, you will know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili terms used in this chapter (all from Google translator. If you are reading this and don’t think they are the best translations, or know some Tanzanian idioms Penda and Irene might use, the comment box is all yours) 
> 
> Karibu kavu – almost dry 
> 
> Watanipeleka nyumbani -- they will send me home

“ _Karibu kavu_ ,” Bibi Uhura reached across the back of the rattan sofa and combed her fingers up Nyota’s neck into her scalp to feel her roots.

Nyota laid her PADD on her grandmother’s lap.

“What do you think of this one?”

Bibi had been a therapist, before she took up teaching.  She could make her face as blank as any Vulcan.  All the Zawadi side of the family knew this look meant that grandmother was concealing her feelings long enough to work out the nicest way to say them.

Bibi enlarged the view, checked every image of the dress.  To Nyota’s thinking, she spent longer looking at the back where the skirt had a central panel with twelve tiers of ruffled para-satin.  Maybe that was a good sign.

“Umm,” Bibi said.

“Umm?”

Uncle Adil and Joseph sat in the two chairs facing them.  The last time Nyota saw her cousin, he was a five-year old whose convulsive giggles made everyone laugh.  Now Joseph was stoic, perhaps the result of having grown arms and legs so long they could not cope well with furniture.  He folded and unfolded his limbs like a restless spider while Nyota tried to choose her party outfit.

When Bibi said, ‘Umm’, Joseph’s elbows came unlocked and his arms flopped out and over the sides of his chair.  Uncle Adil did nothing.  He kept one of his meaty hands permanently in position, covering his mouth.  Presumably his reaction was happening behind that.

Four dresses had been rejected so far.

“Is there a requirement,” Bibi asked, “that you wear black?”

“Colours represent families,” Nyota explained.  “You remember the red T’Shin wore?”

“You wore red yesterday.”

“Yes, so I thought I might take my cue from Lady Amanda and choose something to represent Spock’s family.”

“Umm,” Bibi said again.  “Perhaps Zawadi should have a colour.”

“Sure,” Nyota agreed, “or Uhura.”

“The colour for Uhura would be all business.  That was your father and grandfather and great-grandfather.  They would have chosen black, or grey.”

“What about Zawadi?”

“Zawadi work hard.  But they have a spark--,”

Bibi pointed at Joseph, who looked suddenly worried.

“He is afraid of laughing out loud and offending a Vulcan.”

“ _Watanipeleka nyumbani_ ,” Joseph argued, and relaxed enough to grin.

“Zawadi must have joy.  They are like the flowers in Udzungwa, high in the mountains,” Bibi said.  “They like grey, because they grow on stones.  But they are never grey.”

She used the PADD to search for a suitable photograph of the blooms, and held it up to show everyone.  Nyota could not read the whole caption under the picture, but she did notice the one word printed in italics.

_Saintpaulia_.

African violet.

That clinched it.  They redefined search parameters and the PADD went looking for shades of purple and mauve instead.  Then it didn’t take much time at all – the right dress appeared in minutes.  They called Joseph’s cousins Penda and Irene to come over and see.  They had not moved from the back wall since Nyota let them into Spock’s reception room and made a show of opening the viewing panels to enthuse about the technology.

* * *

 

More desert, Irene thought.  When the view outside appeared she made an effort to seem appreciative, picked a spot far from Bibi and gazed out as if she loved nothing more than a barren landscape.  She was glad when Penda joined her, and the silence was companionable.  It meant their friendship had not suffered much from time and distance apart.

“When are you going to visit?” Penda whispered.  They all whispered – their normal voices seemed too loud on this planet.

“You should hear Juma and little Adil – even Grace joins in and she is too cool for her brothers these days. ‘Ask Auntie Renie to come, ask Auntie Renie to come’.”

Irene smiled, of course. That kind of devotion was flattering.

“Don’t they also ask about Uncle Goodluck?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Goodluck is an accountant. His stories are less exciting, and so are his presents,” Penda said.

They both had to laugh inside themselves, biting their lips.

“So … ?” Penda asked again.

“We don’t get layovers in Tanga very often,” Irene said.

“Shuttle pilots get vacations.”

“You know, seeing how I managed to get our flights here so cheaply, I should take all of you to Pacifica. The sand --,” she pointed at the endless stretch of it outside, “the sand is almost silver. You’d love it.”

“I would,” Penda replied. Though if she were really excited by that idea, she would not go and change the subject.

“So what do you think of this?” she asked.

“This place?” Irene asked back. “I could not settle here.”

“I mean this match.  You could not settle anywhere.”

“Nyota is worse than me.  At least I fly to known destinations.”

Penda puckered her lips.  “The Ambassador is handsome.  And charming, in his way.  Maybe his son --,”

“No,” Irene said, “I’m not convinced.  When he gave us the tour, I thought, this house is too big.”

“Too big?  I would do anything --,”

“Of course you would.  You have three children and a mother-in-law squeezed under your roof.  Think about it.  Vulcan marries human.  They have one child.  One.  What went wrong?  This house was built for a tribe, and there is one child.  Someone must yearn to fill these rooms.”

“I don’t think Nyota is interested in having children.  She’s like you.”

“Uh-uh, Penda.  When did I tell you that?”

“Doesn’t need to be said.”

“Huh.”

Irene gave Penda her best offended look.

“A shuttle pilot can retire on pension after thirty-five thousand flying hours.  That will probably make me forty-five, which is nothing.  I will have twenty years of natural fertility, twenty-seven in vitro.”

“Yes … well --,”

“In Starfleet a woman smart as Nyota could climb the promotion ladder to Admiralty and have her feet on the ground by the same age.  Then, will it be time for motherhood?  Or maybe that Ambassador you like so much will start dropping hints about his empty house.”

“So what if he does?”

“So what if he does?” Irene repeated.  “It is going to be the same problem all over again.  Vulcan and human equals no babies.”

“Umm,” Penda said, the same way Bibi would.  “But don’t you think, Renie, if Nyota had wanted children, she would have fallen pregnant … you know …,”

Nobody in the family spoke about that time.  Because of that, they could not discuss whether Nyota was capable of choosing a good husband.  Irene had doubts.

“Well, thank goodness she didn’t,” was all she could say.

Then they were summoned by Bibi.  Something about a dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to Nyota’s party dress - https://www.fashionwebz.com/partywear-gown/readymade-designer-gown-for-ceremonial_61587 
> 
> Then imagine the skirt is African violet purple.


	35. Question Such Inclinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan words used in this chapter: 
> 
> Omekhlar – alternative parents. Could be applied to any relative who offers childcare, or to someone employed like a nanny or au pair. 
> 
> Swahili phrases used in this chapter: 
> 
> watoto wako wapi? - Where are the children?  
> Una swali mama? - Do you have a question, madam?  
> Hapana bwana – No sir

“ _Una swali, mama?"_

Sarek felt reasonably certain that, once he asked this question, it would be safe to stop walking.  If he then turned one hundred and eighty degrees, he would also find that the group of humans following him had stopped.  He was correct in both assumptions.

Four of Nyota’s family arrived on an early shuttle from Starfleet Africa.  Preparations for the party were underway but not finished, and Aminifu Uhura informed him that her granddaughter was washing her hair.  Therefore, Sarek took it upon himself to be waiting on the roof when the diplomatic hovercar delivered their new guests.

The drivers carried the luggage inside.  Sarek spoke Federation Standard to greet the passengers and determine how they were related to Nyota.  Three of the four humans seemed subdued, perhaps discomfited by red sky, thin air and alien architecture.  He decided not to break up the group too soon, by taking them to their respective guest rooms.  Instead he led them to ground level using a flight of steps on the exterior of the house, and ushered them towards the public entrance.

Eight armed sergeants flanked these doors.  They belonged to T’Pau -- she declined his invitation to the celebration but sent the guards in her place.  Sarek doubted they would need to defend the premises, but he welcomed them for the clear message of support they conveyed.

With one exception, his guests hesitated and needed his encouragement before they would walk between these sentries.  Sarek noted the female who came forward untroubled.  In his mind he heard the katra of T’Shin comment.

- _Irene is an experienced shuttle pilot. This is not her first visit to Shi’Kahr_ -

Sarek was pleased to know this.  Someone more familiar with Vulcan would reassure the others.

The katra remained with him as he guided his guests through the public areas which branched off from the central rotunda: the greater and lesser reception rooms, the reading lounge, the morning and evening dining areas and music room.  The garden he deliberately avoided.  This was Amanda’s territory -- her plans for the day might be spoiled if her preparations were witnessed.  He asked T’Shin if she would gain Spock’s permission to continue the tour into his apartments.

The katra completed its task so quickly Sarek had no need to keep Nyota’s family waiting.  They were given access to the ground level only, which was sufficient.

As Sarek led the way there, he explained how his son’s living space was a mirror image of the accommodation he shared with his wife, and that the two private wings were separated by the public areas they had already seen.  It seemed logical to end their tour in Spock’s reception room.  So Sarek started from the opposite end of the corridor which connected all parts of that wing and described the function of each section they passed.

All Vulcan homes were constructed with progeniture in mind.  The ground level of Spock’s apartments included typical spaces designed for offspring to sleep, dress, perform or augment their school work, take recreation.  Naturally, these were unoccupied.  Sarek paused his commentary as they passed several unfinished rooms.  Their exact function would be decided by need; large families often converted them into accommodation for _omekhlar_.  Sarek mentioned this fact, using the nearest Standard translation he could think of – _au pair_.

As he said it, someone behind him spoke.  The volume, so reduced that another Terran might hear sound but not words, was loud enough for him.  But the language was neither Standard, Vulcan or Xindi Official, the three in which Sarek was fluent.

_“Watoto wako wapi?”_

The katra of T’Shin interceded.

_-Irene asks, ‘Where are the children?’-_

Sarek replied in thought.

_-A premature enquiry.  There has not been sufficient time …-_

T’Shin overlapped her response with his.

_-From your remarks, Irene has deduced that you and Amanda possess the same amount of space in your apartments, yet produced only one child-_

As Sarek sought mastery of his own annoyance, the katra taught him three words which would remind Irene that Vulcans possessed sensitive hearing, and that audible speculation about the private life of a new acquaintance was rude in any culture.

_“Una swali, mama?”_

Sarek turned around and saw Nyota’s cousin visibly startled.  The rest of the group seemed surprised yet pleased, reacting to the realisation he spoke Kiswahili.

 _“Hapana bwana,”_ Irene answered.

But the matter was not entirely settled.  Sarek opened Spock’s reception room, activated the viewing wall on the terrace and sent an order to the kitchen for refreshments.  He conversed with Irene and Penda regarding their respective journeys.  After seventeen lirt’k, Nyota and her grandmother arrived and relieved him from duty.  He left the reception room the way he had come.  As he neared the unfinished rooms his pace slowed and slowed until he came to a stop facing the children’s accommodation again.

He assumed the katra had stayed behind with the humans.

_-Speak your mind, Sarek-_

_-I am reminded that Spock’s first bonding was, in part, unsuccessful due to uncertainty about his reproductive capability-_

_-Was this the most important reason?-_

_-No-_

_-When you chose to bond with Amanda, I presume the subject of children was discussed-_

Sarek could not process his embarrassment quickly enough to conceal it from T’Shin.

_-We did not reach that point before events rendered discussion unnecessary-_

T’Shin did not conceal her wonder.  But she followed it with her own conviction, held for years, that what Sarek discovered with a human bondmate was that rarest level of attachment which could not be denied, and did not require anything save the bond itself.  And she expanded her conviction.

_-I believe Spock and Nyota have discovered this also-_

_-Did Nyota express any inclination, while she was in your care, to become a mother?-_

_-I expressly taught her to question such inclinations-_

_-Explain-_

_-They do not always originate from logical thought.  Terrans are affected by cultural residues which distort perceptions of motherhood.  These ideas act against the best interests of mothers and children-_

Sarek perceived only that his study of Terran culture might require enrichment in this area.  T’Shin offered an example.

_-Historically, undue value has been placed on females experiencing pregnancy and the primary care of biological children, compared with other activities.  As a consequence, some females do not develop their potential beyond these achievements.  Such mothers are unsuitable role models for their offspring-_

Sarek agreed.  Though if this observation was correct, he did not believe Amanda was ever affected by such cultural residues.  They met as soon as she knew she was pregnant.  The microscopic foetus demanded more than her body could supply, made her lightheaded throughout their conversation.  He had already determined that whatever she asked, he would not oppose her.  He had been extremely foolish.

“Strange,” Amanda said.  “Martin wanted a family _so_ badly.  He thought I would, being a teacher.  And I didn’t have the heart to tell him.  I would say, ‘I’ll let you know when I feel ready’.  Over and over he heard that.”

Sarek spent six Terran seconds wondering if she would request a termination.

“Now look at me,” she went on.  “Accidentally pregnant by a Vulcan. Not what any human woman would be prepared for.”

Nine point five seconds passed, during which he no longer wondered, but was convinced.  Amanda wiped her face.  At the time, Sarek thought her red, wet eyes were another pre-natal symptom.

“But somehow,” she said at last, “I feel ready.”

She looked up at him with those tearing eyes.

“Ready for everything.  We don’t need to talk more.  We need to act on our feelings, the way we did to make this baby.”


	36. The Mouthpiece for Many Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you are struggling to remember Lelar, I recommend going back to "The Architecture of Emotion" and rereading chapters 11 through 13.  
> Also, if you did not follow the Star Trek series Enterprise, you may not understand what T'Pau is talking about in this chapter. You can get a quick recap of that history at  
> https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Vulcan_history#Vulcan_reformation  
> or watch Season 4, Episodes 7,8 and 9 on Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter: 
> 
> Reldai – priestess, used as a respectful way to address T’Pau  
> Lirt'k – a Vulcan unit of time close to a minute  
> Orensu – student  
> Dvinsu - servant  
> kahs-wan - see Memory Alpha for details. It is an ordeal whereby a young Vulcan must survive alone in the desert.  
> kir’shara - see Memory Alpha for details. A pyramidal artefact which contained the teachings of Surak.

Lelar met Councillor Hunith’s hovercar at the landing plateau on Mount Seleya, and escorted her to the Hall of Ancient Thought.  This was not questioned.  However, once they came into the presence of T’Pau, and the High Priestess asked Hunith to state a reason for this hastily arranged meeting, it was clear from the Councillor’s hesitation and her glance in Lelar’s direction that Hunith expected an audience of one.

T’Pau gave no ground.

“You will need to gain experience dealing with the Council,” she told Lelar afterwards.  “The High Priestess must function as a check against their power, to ensure they are not tempted to abuse it.”

What was discussed in the meeting had piqued Lelar’s curiosity.

“ _Reldai_ ,” she said, “I desire to understand why you defend these bondings of Vulcans with humans.  Initially I believed it was an act of loyalty to clan Surak and the line of S’chn T’gai in particular.  But you would not agree with Councillor Hunith that Tetov’yth Tonev should be forced to end his association with the Terran Chibuzo Okigbo.  Do you owe an obligation to him?”

It seemed T’Pau did not have an answer prepared, because she remained quiet for two _lirt’k_ before she replied.

“What would you have decided, _orensu_ , if you were in my place?”

Now it was Lelar who felt unprepared.

“I do not know.”

“You have no opinion on the matter?”

“I cannot imagine a desire for anything except what I have desired,” Lelar said.  “And since I was a child I knew my true path, a path defined by these --,”

She gestured to the many katra that lined the walls inside the Hall, before she concluded.

“As for other humanoid cultures, I have studied as much as was compulsory for my schooling.”

“You have no interest in knowing more?" T'Pau asked.

“I do not.”

T’Pau made a sound from deep in her throat, and pulled her cloak more closely around her body.

“ _Reldai_ , may I build a fire now to warm you?”

Councillor Hunith knew her escort was descended from clan Churut, from families whose history involved no political administration but only the extraction of materials contained in Vulcan’s mountains, stone and metal, and who built the ever-burning forges of Tinsha.  She assumed, therefore, that T’Pau employed Lelar as some kind of personal _dvinsu_ , who could be commanded to do something about the early morning chill.  She was swiftly corrected.

“Only if it will not distract you from listening,” T’Pau said.  “I have more to teach you.”

While Lelar moved one of the braziers and filled it with fuel, the High Priestess began to speak about her youth.

“I also understood my path from an early age.  At that time, the priesthood was divided.  Some supported the High Command.  Some, like myself, went into hiding in order to preserve the true teachings of Surak.  My life was simple.  All that concerned me was restoring the authority of those teachings, in order to save Vulcan from another descent into war.”

“The story of your triumph over High Command,” Lelar said, “greatly inspired me.”

“From whom did you learn it?”

“Several sources.  My grandmother taught me to read from historical essays.  Later I learned the epic poetry of Solkar.  And every student who prepares for their _kahs-wan_ must memorise maps of the Forge and know how the Syrrianites – how you – survived in that environment.”

“What did you learn about the katra of Surak?”

“That you brought it to Shi’Kahr, along with the _kir’shara_.”

Satisfied with the preparation of the brazier, Lelar took down the laser torch which gave them light and ignited the coals.  Together they watched the fire grow until it filled the entire bowl.

“There are facts you will not find,” T’Pau finally said.  “Facts which have never been written down.”

Lelar kept still.  Underneath her self-control there was eagerness, because it seemed she was about to learn a new secret.

“The katra of Surak was brought to Shi’Kahr by a Terran male.”

The fire crackled between them.

“A Terran carried it in his mind?  In the same way …,”

“The same way Nyota Uhura carries the soul of T’Shin,” T’Pau confirmed.

“At what time did you acquire it?” Lelar asked.

“Not the time I chose.”

Lelar considered what she knew about the mind of Nyota, and of T’Shin.

“You are suggesting the katra of Surak was unwilling to leave its Terran host.”

“I am, _orensu_.”

“Between Nyota and T’Shin, there was a previous psi connection.  But this Terran ... there would be no reason …,”  Lelar shook her head.  “It is not logical.”

“Surak would agree with you,” T’Pau said.  “My first request, once I had the katra, was for his explanation.  I was not surprised to learn that curiosity was a factor.  The living Surak knew nothing about other humanoids.”

The High Priestess paused.  Her gaze moved from the fire to her lap, and then her eyes slowly closed.  Lelar waited.  A sergeant entered the Hall.  He also recognised that T’Pau was in trance, receiving telepathic communication, and made a signal to indicate that breakfast had been prepared in the communal kitchen.

The brazier flames consumed their fuel and died back to flickers over the coals before Lelar received her teacher back.

“Ambassador Sarek,” T’Pau explained, as she opened her eyes, “expresses his gratitude for our guard.”

Much, much more would have been expressed in the time taken.  But Lelar knew she was most often rewarded with concealed knowledge when she did not press for it.  T’Pau continued as if their conversation were never interrupted.

“The Terran male was Captain Jonathan Archer.  After the Reformation, he made thirty-seven subsequent journeys to Vulcan, to this mountain.  The katra of Surak requested them.”

“To satisfy its curiosity?” Lelar asked.

“ _Orensu_ , were it merely curious, why not obtain a broader sample of Terran minds?  Or Andorian, or any number of other species?  Answer me that.”

Lelar was unsettled by the only possible explanation which occurred to her.  She would not show this weakness.

“I cannot say,” she decided to reply.

“Then let us return to the beginning of our conversation.  I asked what decision you would make concerning these bonds between Vulcans and Terrans.  In my personal opinion, they should not be permitted.”

“You agree with Councillor Hunith?”

“I agree that close association with humans neither maintains or improves our strict adherence to principles of logic.”

“Then I am no closer to understanding your decision.”

“You are,” T’Pau assured her.  “When you are ready to take my place, you will have proved that you know this most important lesson.  A wise High Priestess must be the mouthpiece for many minds, and never her own.”

 


	37. Perspectives on a Party, Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Igbo phrases used in this chapter 
> 
> Kedu ihe dị iche? - What is the difference?  
> Nwanne – sister  
> Obiajulu - I've seen three different translations of this name: "My heart is at peace", "My heart is content" and "My heart is consoled". Anyway, that's the kind of man Chibuzo has for a brother.
> 
> Swahili words used in this chapter 
> 
> Mjukuu - granddaughter

Chibuzo took the window seat.  With Obiajulu beside her (six foot five and no longer able to fasten the top button of his sixteen-inch shirt collar), she would probably not see or be obliged to speak with the person who had booked the third place in row 36, Flight AA247.  Her brother had no social interaction issues.  He was not the sort to start conversations with strangers, but he did not need to avoid them.  He was true to his name; whatever life presented he could accept and be content.

But the shuttle from Onitsha to Dar-es-Salaam sealed its doors and no one joined them.  It meant they were free to talk.  Not out loud -- you could never be sure who might overhear or how information would travel.  Technology granted them privacy.  They powered up their respective PADDs and typed away, side by side, looking as though they were ignoring each other.

Chibuzo started.

- _How did you get time off?_ -

- _I called in a favour._ -

That was sibling code for ‘do not ask’.  She sent her brother an emoji with its eyes rolled up, and added a promise.

- _I will tell everyone soon._ -

- _Soon.  I will hold you to it.  Nnenne first.  And you must make her believe she is the first to know your heart._ -

- _I do not want to lie._ -

- _Do not say it like a lie. Take her to Madam Odina’s for lunch.  Say, ‘Nnenne, I brought you here because I must confess.  I cannot keep my secret any longer’.  She will assume she is first._ -

- _I cannot tell her in public!_ -

- _Why not?_ -

- _What will she say?  If Tonev were human, then maybe._ -

- _I have heard Nnenne say, ‘Chibuzo will fall in love with a Vulcan’, because you spend so much time there.  It will please her to know her prediction came true._ -

- _She must have been joking._ -

- _I do not think so._ -

For Chibuzo, this amount of revealing conversation, though silent, was her usual limit.  She took a break, switched her PADD to stream music through her earpiece.  Obiajulu read and replied to his office messages.

In Dar-es-Salaam they caught a connecting shuttle to Vulcan.  Chibuzo counted the passengers waiting in the small departure lounge; the proportion of Vulcans to Terrans was roughly ten to one.  She felt sure she recognised one -- a Science Academy researcher who worked for a spell at T’karath.  The look on the woman’s face suggested she knew Chibuzo, no doubt remembered her name.  Chibuzo tried to do the same.

T’Pallar? T’Pava? T’Pralli?

All were guesses, and suspiciously similar to the name of her academic sponsor T’Pavil.

Chibuzo boarded the shuttle and chose another seat that allowed her to hide behind her brother.  She played no music; Vulcans were sensitive to sound leakage.  Seventy-five minutes into the flight she still could not recall the name of the researcher.  Obiajulu was checking NPL results and placing a bet on the Gombe/Kaduna match.  She waited until he finished, then restarted their digital conversation.

- _Do you think Tonev is making the right decision, to choose a human?_ -

Chibuzo took a sideways glance, to see the text window appear on her brother’s PADD display, and the little frown he made while he read it.  Then she looked back to her display, waited for his reply.

- _Where did this come from, so suddenly?_ -

- _I cannot do what Vulcans can.  I do not remember everything I have seen or heard._ -

- _If Tonev remembers everything, why would he look for another memory?_ -

- _I do not speak the language well._ -

Obiajulu responded first with a dismissive sniff, forgetting where he was.

- _Tonev speaks Standard.  I have never heard you complain about his ability.  And what does it matter?  He can read your mind._ -

- _But I cannot read his._ -

Obiajulu turned, gave her a baffled look and a shrug.  In his exasperation he forgot to keep typing in the same language.

- _Kedu ihe dị iche?_ -

Chibuzo changed the subject, asked her brother if he had purchased his 2257 season ticket.

- _In another hour we will be on Vulcan.  Before we get there, nwanne, you must resolve your doubts with me, or else I go back to Onitsha._ -

Chibuzo nodded.  She typed ‘ _ten minutes_ ’ -- the amount of time she needed to prepare herself for yet more revealing talk.  Obiajulu uploaded and showed her his receipt for a year's admission to Ifeanyi Ubah FC games.  He spent a pleasant ten minutes (or so it seemed) buying a new season shirt and scarf and having them delivered to his work address. 

- _I worry about Nyota Uhura._ -

Her brother sent her a row of question marks, followed by a question.

- _This is not about Tonev?_ -

- _Nyota was raised by a Vulcan.  She has telepathic ability of her own.  She studies Xenoculture at the Academy.  She is the perfect mate for a Vulcan._ -

- _I will not have my sister put down, even by herself.  You are self-contained.  Dignified.  A scientist. This Nyota is descended from Doctor Uhura.  You once described this woman to me, you said she was tiny, bony.  She flapped her hands and laughed loud, was much too forward.  What about that?_ -

- _Nyota will be my sister in law._ -

- _She is in Starfleet. They spend years in space._ -

- _I might need her advice, or her support.  We need to be friends, enough for that._ -

- _And you do not make friends easily._ -

- _I can picture it.  She will introduce herself to me, and then what?  I never know what to say, after introductions.  If I discuss my work, she will think I am dull._ -

* * *

 

“She is quiet.”

“How quiet?” Nyota questioned her grandmother.  “You used to say I was quiet.”

“More than you.  When you need to understand, you speak your mind.  Chibuzo … she once asked me what I meant by such and such, and it was something I had said a year before!  Tilt your head this way now, _mjukuu_.”

The oblong table and chairs in Clubroom Two had become a hairdressing station.  Nyota’s kit bag was opened flat across the table top.  A corner remained for Spock to rest his PADD and satisfy his curiosity by looking up the origin of the term “milkmaid braids”.

“Explains what attracted her to Karimu.”

“And visa versa,” Bibi said.  She reached for one of the new bobby pins, studded with tiny zirconias. 

"These are pretty.”

“Spock chose them.”

“We will put them all over your head.  They will look like stars.”

“Karimu says she is very dedicated to her work.  What could I ask her about geology?”

Spock looked up from his PADD.

“Conversation with a scientific specialist about their area of expertise is rarely satisfying unless there is reasonable knowledge parity.”

“The voice of experience,” Bibi said.

“Then I need suggestions,” Nyota told them both.


	38. Glance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swahili words used in this chapter:
> 
> mjukuu - granddaughter

Then the katra of T’Shin spoke.  Nyota's mind had been quiet for so many hours the sudden sound of that voice startled her. 

 _-I have not had the opportunity to meet Chibuzo myself-_   

“Oh,” Nyota blurted out.  Bibi and Spock stopped what they were doing and waited for what she would say next.  All they received was a second “oh”, as T’Shin went on to state her belief that the best way for them both to make acquaintance with Chibuzo would be a mind meld. 

Without realising, Nyota lifted one hand from her lap and her fingers fell into that distinctive formation for reading thoughts.  The gesture was sufficient for Spock to guess what was going on. 

“I believe the katra is suggesting a psi connection between them both,” he said to Bibi. 

Grandmother raised her eyebrows, put the last bobby pin in place and said, “Even I would not be so bold.  But that may be the solution.” 

“I'm not sure,” Nyota said it out loud. 

T'Shin asked her to consider further.  Bibi tidied the things inside Nyota's hair bag and closed it.  Spock finished the article he had been reading and opened the message Nyota sent him, the one that revealed the dress she wanted to replicate.  She had seen him page through the photo views twice already. 

The katra caught his glance.  According to T’Shin, Spock's eyes lifted for three point seven seconds, aiming over the top of his PADD and beyond, to help himself to another study of his _ashayam_ with stars in her hair.  Nyota was surprised by her own reaction.  In her thoughts, she scolded herself. 

- _We've had sex four times in three days-_

The katra said it failed to understand why the frequency of their sexual relations needed to be questioned. 

- _How can I still be getting an itch between my legs when he looks at me now?-_

The katra seemed almost ... insulted by the comment.  Nyota blinked a few times, and Spock went back to his reading.  Or perhaps, like her, he merely feigned a change of interest. 

- _Nyota, the power of this attraction is a rare thing, even among Vulcans.  It seems ungrateful to complain.-_

- _I am not complaining, ko-mekh, I am worrying.  How are we going to manage when we are back in San Francisco?_ - 

- _Maintain physical distance.  I would also advise that you delay the creation of a psionic link between your minds until you satisfy the Academy's regulations and can make your relationship public_ - 

Bibi said, “I need to make myself ready now, _mjukuu_.”  She kissed Nyota on the cheek.  “See you when the party starts, eh?  Behave yourselves.” 

She laughed as she said it.  Of course, the katra had probably told Bibi, or else her own psi training picked up something from the kiss.  She was still smiling as she walked out of Clubroom Two.   


	39. Perspectives on a Party, Part 5

Amanda stood on the roof, watching the sky as the hovercar made its approach.  The vehicle descended slowly, slowly.  When it stopped, perhaps ten meters directly above the house, it was positioned such that its shadow fit perfectly within the landing circle painted on the stone tiles.  The car turned in mid-air and lowered itself to touchdown with the doors facing her. 

Amanda had seen one photograph of Chibuzo Okigbo.  The subspace site for the Federal University of Technology in Akura posted an ID mugshot alongside the abstract for Chibuzo’s Masters’ thesis.  It seemed like a portrait of someone unaware that a picture was being taken, looking in the direction of the camera but not giving to it.   

And as the hovercar’s engines went quiet, Amanda recalled how someone once asked her, “What does it give you, being married to a Vulcan?” 

Privately, she found the question insulting; it implied she might have chosen _any_ Vulcan.  What mattered (she had tried to explain) was minds. For Vulcans, intellectual and emotional merger with a mate must happen and must be complete.  What therefore drove romantic and sexual attraction was a conviction that they had found their perfect mental match.

Naturally, she was curious about the mind that attracted Tonev/Karimu. 

He was the first to leave the hovercar.  A few seconds later one man of imposing dimensions, wearing a dark business suit and wraparound shades, emerged.  He stayed near the doors, hovered over Chibuzo as she stepped out, making her seem like an important dignitary who had brought along a personal bodyguard. 

She was tall, close to Sarek’s height (Amanda would confirm this when she introduced them to each other).  The wide brimmed hat on Chibuzo’s head flopped at the sides and obscured her face.  Her separates – collared shirt, light jacket, trousers and boots – did not give Amanda the impression of a deliberately chosen ensemble but of sensible pieces purchased at different times.  The fabrics were soft, cut for comfort.   

Tonev had unloaded the luggage, but he left the bags on the landing circle so he could assume a similar, hovering position opposite the ‘bodyguard’ and speak close to his lover’s ear.  He must have said something about Amanda -- Chibuzo's head shifted and she made eye contact.  It was a look with more expression than the mugshot portrait, but that was not saying much. 

The dark suited man also looked up.  He smiled – a smile that seemed to grow wider as he broke away from the group and approached her. When he reached the spot where Amanda waited, under the portico that shaded the entrance to the goods elevator, he removed his sunglasses. His eyes smiled just as warmly. 

And he extended his hand to be shaken. 

“Obiajulu Okigbo,” he said, “second brother of Chibuzo.  You are most kind to invite us here.” 

Chibuzo followed, expression neutral, hands concealed behind her back.  Amanda greeted the brother like a fellow Terran, the sister like a Vulcan.  Then she paused until Tonev/Karimu had set down their luggage in the elevator. 

“I feel I should apologise,” Amanda said, “We did not give you much time.  There must be other family members who would have joined you if they could.” 

She saw brother glance at sister, but nothing else.  It was no matter. 

“We have two-way cameras set up in the garden, because my brother cannot attend.  Is there anyone you know who might want to enjoy the party by live subspace link?” 

* * *

It would help so much to know the Ambassador’s wife already, to have the answers to the basic questions.  How had it felt, when she knew it was love?  Did Lady Amanda make up her mind quickly, or had the feeling crept up on her, surprised her?  Had there ever been doubts?  And the reactions of others, because there surely were reactions, perhaps rejections or insults or slights at very least, how did she respond to those? 

Chibuzo heard Obiajulu say, “May we have a recording of the footage instead?” 

Their PADDs had been put away in their bags; she could not question her brother’s request for such perfect blackmail material.  Now she would have to tell Nnenne. 

“It would be better,” Obiajulu went on.  “We will assemble the whole family afterwards.  That way, no one will seem privileged and no one will get jealous.” 

Chibuzo dipped her head and hid behind her hat.  Obiajulu would follow through with this plan.  His house was enormous, probably as big as this one.  His vid room could seat seventy.  The thought of this ‘assembly’ took her thoughts away from the moment.  Chibuzo remained aware that she travelled down in an elevator, walked across more than one type of flooring, went down a flight of stairs.  And conversation continued. How much?  Only the odd few words made it through to her absent mind, not enough to make sense. 

The next thing she knew her brother was opening a door and putting his bag inside a room.     

“Chi-chi,” he said, “I will see you in the garden.” 

Garden?  Where was the garden?  When?  She could only reply with a look, one she knew would be blank. 

Then there was her room across the corridor.  The instant she stepped inside, a glassy sheen caused the words ‘ _T’Ruhk_ tektite’ to leap from memory when she saw it.  A small collection of the rare mineraloid fragments, polished to enhance their colour, were individually mounted into the wall panels and gave Chibuzo the impression of a school of dark fish swimming above the pillows on her bed. 

She went closer, and must have forgotten herself in the study of the flow lines and bubbles in the stones.  She heard Tonev say, “ _Ashayam_ …,” 

Chibuzo turned round, saw him and also Lady Amanda, who stood at the door like a hotel porter waiting to be dismissed.   

“I’m so sorry.”  

Chibuzo freed one of her hands as she apologised, to cover her mouth.  Halfway there she remembered how unseemly this gesture would be on Vulcan and felt caught in the act of being human. 

Amanda said, “The Ambassador and I selected this guestroom for you.  We believed you would appreciate the décor best.  I will let you rest and get ready.” 

Chibuzo did not rate herself as the best reader of expressions.  She hoped the last look that the Ambassador’s wife gave her was an invitation to ask later how they acquired the tektite.  From there, perhaps, the conversation could go elsewhere.   


	40. Dressing and Undressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan terms used in this chapter 
> 
> Limak – according to https://www.starbase-10.de/vld/, this is “a covering in front for ornament, protection against wear, etc; lining of a garment on parts exposed”. I’ve used the term to refer to the kind of ‘breastplate’ garments worn by Sarek and other Vulcans (see examples at http://www.ex-astris-scientia.org/gallery/drex/vulcans2.jpg)

For the silk nightgown and robe, Nyota had been prepared to order garments in a Federation standard size.  She anticipated, correctly, that Terran 52 would provide a comfortable fit around her shoulders and over her breasts.  The catalogue description indicated the gown was knee length.  On Nyota the hem went down to middle of her calves, but this did not concern her. 

The dress she wished to wear for the party was a different matter. Only bespoke measurements were acceptable. 

First, it was necessary to select footwear.  Spock refrained from commenting on the shoes recommended by the dress designer, except to say that the circumference of the heel combined with its height would put pressure on Nyota's longus tendons and greatly restrict mobility. 

Nyota said, “I need height.  I don’t want to look like Chibuzo’s little sister.” 

But she agreed that those particular sandals were more to Gaila’s taste than her own. 

“What about these?" she asked, pointing to the next product in the catalogue.  "The heel circumference is greater.” 

That much was true.  On screen, Spock could see thumbnails for another eighteen pairs of shoes.  None of them made him feel less concerned for Nyota’s comfort or ease of movement.  He did not say this, but silence was its own form of communication. 

“Think of the advantages,” she told him.  “I have an excuse to use your arm for support … not that I would need it.  If I did lose my balance --,” 

“Very likely you are practised in the art of walking with these --,” 

“If I _did_ lose my balance,” Nyota talked over his remark, “you will earn good boyfriend points from my relatives by catching me.” 

He suspected that the pair she finally selected, described as having ‘six centimetre flare heels’ and decided upon without the exclamations of admiration or desire which Nyota had expressed for other shoes, were some concession to his anxieties.   

* * *

Chibuzo sat down on the side of her bed. 

“You are going to learn how uncomfortable I can be in large groups of humans,” she said to Tonev. 

She had never seen him wearing clan robes.  They broadened his shoulders.  When he approached, he seemed to glide, not walk, and that along with the soft sound of cloth dragging over the floor was wonderful.  He stopped in front of her, but she did not look him in the face.  Her eyes were waiting for his hands to appear from behind his back. 

“I will help you remove your boots,” he said. 

He knelt carefully, ensuring that his broad sleeves did not get pinned underneath him.  Then he lifted her left foot off the floor and placed it in his lap.   

“These are new?” he asked. 

“I bought them three weeks ago,” she said.  “You know how worn out my old boots were.” 

He tilted her heel to examine the stitching and the tread pattern on the sole.  He untied the laces carefully, as though they were made of ribbon.  He turned back the tongue.  After a ‘hmm’ of approval he clamped the capped toe with one hand, the ankle with another and freed her foot with a single pull.   

That boot was set aside.  Chibuzo’s sock, half removed already, needed only a tug.  She bent her knee, intending to pull back the naked foot and leave its place free for the other, but Tonev caught it.   

Through the skin, their thoughts bumped into each other. 

- _I need a shower_ - 

- _Immediately?_ - 

His thumb pressed into the ball of that foot beneath her second toe.  He found the reflex that mattered; she had been holding back the reaction so long it was almost forgotten.  

- _A month_ - 

- _Thirty-six Terran days, fourteen hours and eleven minutes_ - 

He continued his thumb massage.  Chibuzo gave up on words then, spoken or unspoken.  Their need for each other was like the worst pain mixed with promise of the best relief.  Surrendering would make things better – the party, meeting Uhura, telling the rest of family that she wanted to marry a Vulcan.  It would remind her why none of that really mattered. 

* * *

Spock could say what he liked about tendon strain or turned ankles.  Once Nyota was wearing the Zatissima purple slingbacks, and had strutted the length of Clubroom Two and back again to demonstrate how capably she could walk, stop and pivot in them, his only comeback was a mute nod.   

He fetched a tricorder from one of the first aid kits. 

“We will take a full body scan and give your measurements to the replicator.” 

It was a procedure that could be done while clothed.  Nyota didn’t think before she acted, before her robe and nightgown were off and she stood wearing only shoes, panties and a handful of sparkling hair pins.  The impulse just came out of nowhere -- jubilant and juvenile.  It knew there were guests waiting upstairs to meet them but it preferred to rebel, to stay locked away with a lover and play with her own erotic power. 

Spock, more circumspect, looked at her for a split second before he dropped his eyes to the tricorder display.  He did not move them, even after the scan was done and the data transferred to the replicator.  

* * *

Tonev removed her other boot, then both of his own.  He stood up and began to undress slowly, so that Chibuzo had time to study each layer: the limak embossed with his clan sigil, the sweeping cloak, the cross-fastening outer robe and finally the simple, floor length shift.  He came and stood close so she could examine the belt, discover how its fastenings came undone because this one was not like his others, the ones she knew well.    

She rewarded herself when the belt came off, pressed her face into that last piece of cloth between her and his body and kissed him over his heart.  He toyed with her ears. 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry.” 

Nyota waited to say it.  Dress replicated, she took herself quickly out of Spock’s sight.  The lingering guilt for her provocative impulse found a strange source of comfort – the long, matching sash which was part of the ensemble.  She tucked and pinned a corner into her hair at the back and draped it round her throat and shoulders.  She put her bra on over it.  When the dress was added there wasn’t a sliver of skin exposed beneath her chin, and enough cloth remained to cascade down her back.  She checked in a mirror and was satisfied to see that it extended far enough to conceal her hands when she clasped them behind her. 

It felt right to apologise once she presented him with this Nyota. 

Spock had also changed.  His robes resembled those Sarek and Amanda wore to dinner the night before last.  Clothing, it seemed, made them both appear to be different people.  Black gave Spock added gravitas and detachment, as if he was not the man she had undressed for, as if the idea of seducing him was absurd.  

“That was …,” she began, and then said, “I should not have done that.” 

Spock looked away from her again, studied the floor.  He took five, slow, solemn steps that echoed in the quiet clubroom.  That put them face to face.  He lifted his eyes. Black robes enhanced the darkness in his features – momentarily Nyota could not distinguish his irises from his pupils and thought the latter were fully dilated.  And then she saw the colour difference … just.  Was it an illusion? 

Before she could decide, his hand appeared.  His middle and index fingers touched her face, traced the line of her upper lip before they quickly retreated into the voluminous folds of his clothing. 

It left her with a taste of the rebel in him. 


End file.
